The Curious Case of Hermione Granger
by leeleepupu
Summary: AU/Magic. Set in 1990s Hogwarts. Hermione finds the senior she always admired had more than one dark secret and before she knows it, she's embroiled in all of them, and Tom Riddle wants to keep it that way.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 _What does he think he's doing?_ Hermione tapped her foot, impatient and annoyed. They had been stuck in the cupboard of Potions classroom for the past fifteen minutes with no avail. Spells did not work. Shouting did not work. _Nothing_ worked.

The most frustrating part of the entire experience however was her _companion—_ so to speak—who refused to even allow her to approach the cupboard door. Hermione huffed at his impertinence. His patronizing of her person. And he did it in such an unassuming _polite_ manner that she didn't even have the courage to confront him.

But perhaps being stuck with Riddle in the cupboard did have its advantages. The whole ordeal would have been even more torturous if Riddle had not used his wand to magically enlarge the small cupboard, they were locked in. At least they had room to breathe in.

Why on _earth_ where they locked in the classroom? Hermione contemplated hard enough for any curses or tricks of this sentient castle that she might have read but she came up with nothing. Was it a trick of peeves? _Trick_ —her eyes widened with realization and she found herself pushing—no, _shoving_ —Riddle out of the way to press her hands against the cupboard's door. She missed the look of anger that passed through Riddle's eyes at her action.

Before he could curse her however, her words distracted him, "I think it's one of Fred and George's gags. The effect won't wear off until a few hours."

"Weasleys," Riddle murmured. Hermione noticed the practiced lack of emotion in his comment. Did it come easily, or did he have to try really hard? Hermione couldn't decide. She nonverbally transfigured a set of brooms to create comfortable couches for them to sit on while they waited. Riddle gave her a look of surprise before smiling at her thankfully. She couldn't help but blush under his approving gaze.

They sat in silence for a while before Hermione couldn't take it anymore. She had so many things to ask him. Riddle was a year older than her—a Prefect—and a brilliant wizard. Also, a brilliant student. He had scored seven OWLS and there were all sorts of rumors around him that he had mastered the seventh year's course in his third year. And that once he had taken on a troll all by himself. Another which said that he had defeated a teacher in a duel.

Hermione was not sure how true these rumors were, but she had noticed how kind and helpful he was to everyone and anyone despite their age, blood status and house affinity. He was—perfect. He was even beautiful to look at. Sometimes Hermione wondered if he was real. If someone as perfect as him could really exist.

"Say, Riddle," She said, leaning forward, with her elbows on her knees, "I've always wanted to ask. In Gambert's philosophy, she talks about employing runes and blood magic to create a portal which could allow one to travel back in time—" Hermione began, frantic and excited but she was cut off by Riddle who said, "Yes, but Granger, you must know that her work is strictly based in philosophy and not empirical study. Despite several attempts—,"

"Yes, yes, I _know_ ," Hermione cut him eagerly, "But I was thinking _what if_ what if it could work—I mean, we could time travel—"

"A Time-Turner would achieve the same with one hundredth of effort," Riddle cut her off again, but this time with a smile. The shock and displeasure at being interrupted must have displayed on her face for Riddle softly added, "Wouldn't you agree?"

" _Yes_ ," Hermione conceded unhappily before saying, "but that _wasn't_ the point I was making. I was saying, that if we could travel back in time—then we can travel forward. And even to other parallel worlds."

Riddle who had been earlier regarding with her polite interest suffered a change in disposition. His back straightened and there was an odd coldness to his voice when he uttered the next few words. "Parallel worlds?" he murmured. "Granger, that is quite interesting. Interestingly Muggle, I would say."

Hermione blushed at his comment. "Yes, I read it in a muggle book actually."

"I would presume your schoolwork would keep you sufficiently busy." His words pricked though they were not said unkindly. Was he reproaching her? Hermione had expected a teacher of such conduct, but she had not expected Tom Riddle to admonish her for her curiosity. Or was he rebuking her for having drawn her ideas from a Muggle author?

"Do—do you not read muggle authors?" She asked, suddenly curious. Riddle—Riddle was not a pureblood name, after all. At best, he was a half-blood. But of course, blood purity did not matter to Riddle. That is what made him so well-liked in school. Unlike his horrendous Puritan housemates Riddle had always maintained a neutral position on blood purity. He had always championed equality. Hadn't he…?

But even Hermione could see that her question had caused Riddle much discomfort. Because he just frowned at her, struggling to keep a smile on his face. She blushed, embarrassed at having embarrassed Tom Riddle. She hadn't meant to be nosy. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—, I think I spoke too fast," she sputtered nervously, "But I really wanted to know your thoughts on time-travel and if it was possible… which is why I asked at all."

"That's alright, Granger," Riddle smiled at her warmly. Hermione felt instantly better. "I find it charming that you are so absorbed by your academic pursuits."

Hermione could not help blush at his compliment, though it did not escape her notice that he had avoided her question. "Well, I'm nothing like—like you. I'm still wonderstruck at this world. It's so different and new. Moving portraits and photographs and _ghosts_! Even this castle is alive. It's—everything has life. Artificial intelligence could become something entirely revolutionary if mixed with magic, I—I was thinking. It would be so—much more magical." She couldn't help but smile, her mouth spreading wide enough for her teeth to show. "Aren't you fascinated still?"

"I am afraid I cannot relate. The familiar does not fascinate. It must be enchanting though, your experience," Riddle smiled at her before going back to his book. She did not miss the alienating emphasis on the word ' _'your'_.

 _But isn't it yours too? This experience?_ She wanted to ask but she did not. Maybe Riddle was half-blood and brought up in magical world. But there were rumors that he was a muggleborn. But then, there were also rumors that he was a pureblood and already betrothed to Daphne Greengrass. And Pansy had told her that _that_ was false information. Hermione wanted to so badly know about his upbringing but found it impolite so was quiet.

She sneaked a glance at Riddle. She had always found him impossible to imitate. She had looked up to him since she had come to know about him. How was he always perfect? How did he know so much and where did he know it from? If there was one thing Hermione Granger wanted very much, it was a bibliography compiled by Tom Riddle. She wanted to know everything he knew and much more, much, much more.

"Riddle, I want you to help me with this research—as a partner, of course," she said after a while.

Riddle looked up at her, surprised. "While that seems tempting Granger, I'm afraid I must decline—,"

"I am a good student. And great at research. I think we will do well together," Hermione said quickly. She did not want to be rejected. She did not. She really thought there was something to this. They could work on it together and they could win—

"I could stay on as a mentor."

"A mentor?" Hermione frowned. "No, I'm not looking for guidance. I'm looking for a _partner_. An equal," she said levelly. A _mentor_? Did he think she needed his patronizing advice on research? He was also a student after all. Only a student.

"I don't want a mentor," Hermione asserted again.

"Well then, I'm afraid I must decline, Granger." Hermione opened her mouth to argue again but Riddle cut her off with a firm, "and I would appreciate if you left the matter alone."

"Alright," Hermione conceded. _For now_ , she thought.

"Thank you, I appreciate it," Riddle said, before returning to his book. It was another half hour of silence before the door opened on its own and the two parted ways—Hermione grudgingly and Tom Riddle very, very annoyed.

"Ginny, has someone ever told you you're barking mad," Hermione said, taking out what her friend had requested of her from the pocket of her robes. A copy of _Wily_ _Witch_ that Hermione had managed to ask Pansy to get her. The latter had raised her eyebrows and smirked at the demand—not to mention the incessant questions she had subjected Hermione too. The teasing too had yet to stop.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a darling?" Ginny grinned, sliding the copy underneath her robes, glancing around the Great Hall which was sparsely populated with students at this early hour for breakfast.

"What is it _for_?" Hermione asked, adding some milk in her tea and offering to do the same for Ginny when the latter shook her head but smiled gratefully.

"Luna's birthday present," she shrugged. "Apart from the _proper_ present we brought her, I thought this ought to spice things up."

Hermione could not help but burst into a giggle when she imagined the dreamy witch's reaction towards the magazine. "You're mad," Hermione bumped her shoulder to Ginny's, "a genius—but _mad_." Ginny only grinned.

"We'll give it to her when we celebrate her birthday tonight in the common room when everyone's asleep," Ginny said buttering her scone. "Do you mind meeting me earlier and helping me with my Potions homework? Snape's class is proving to be more difficult than I had predicted, and I just cannot wrap my head around some concepts."

"Alright, sure," Hermione nodded, taking a sip of her tea and feeling the chamomile calm her nerves almost immediately. "I had a lot of trouble last year too. I'm terrible at Potions—though I hate to admit," she grumbled into her tea earning a laugh from her friend.

"You're _not_ ," Ginny argued though she knew it was not entirely true. She remembered how much Hermione had struggled last year with Potions. Though she was good with theory, it was practical application that had got her in a fix. Ginny's denial earned her a pointed look from her friend.

"Nevertheless, how does seven do for you? I've got Quidditch practice till then," Ginny took a bite of her scone. "Or is that too late for you?"

"Seems fine to me," Hermione said but immediately exclaimed, "oh no, I can't," she gave her friend an apologetic look. "I've—I've got some work to do Ginny. Is it alright if we work on it tomorrow?"

Ginny was going to ask her what work it was, but she only shrugged, "sure."

Hermione gave her a grateful smile and quickly unfolded the newspaper on the table and began a pretense of busily perusing it lest Ginny ask her any questions. She was to meet Pansy at 7 today and did not wish to lie to her friend. She was happy when Ginny seemed more involved in her breakfast than being inquisitive.

The two ate the rest of the breakfast in silence until more of their friends started filing in and chatter began to swell in the Great Hall. Harry and Ron soon followed suit, one after another, squeezing themselves next to her. Their faces still bore traces of sleep and Hermione noticed Ron looked especially sleep deprived.

"Ron you look awful," she said pushing a tray of food towards him, at which he shot her a grateful smile. "Didn't get enough sleep?"

Before he could reply Harry said, "He was up all night. Fred and George got a howler from their mother because of their detentions. Someone ratted them out." He was smirking and gave Ron a friendly shove before continuing, "And they suspect Ron of it. Wouldn't let him sleep till he submitted to a full Weasley interrogation."

"Bloody hell, it was absolutely unfair!" Ron grumbled, "I told them I did not tell on them, but they said they had _evidence_." He scoffed as he bit into his toast. "Evidence, my arse," he leaned towards Hermione, "let me tell you—If I found out the person who ratted them out, I would express my sincere thanks towards them—,"

"Ronald," a voice said which made Ron drop his toast and eyes widen. It was Fred. He was standing behind him with his twin—both of them were two looming shadows, their eyes gleaming with malice.

"Did you hear that, Fred?"

"I sure did, George."

"And what did you think of it?" George asked his twin, his eyes still trained on the back of now-cowering Ron's head.

"Guilty," Fred replied.

"Guilty," George agreed.

"But I—," Ron began in protest but it was cut off with a firm, "watch your back, Ronald," from George.

"And your front," Fred added. Ron only grumbled into his toast as Ginny, Hermione and Harry laughed.

"Fred," Ginny said as they settled next to her. "We're on for tonight, yes?"

"Yes, of course. Also," Fred paused to take out something from the pocket of his robes, "you forgot this." He handed Ginny something. A pair of socks and a couple of books. Ginny took them gratefully.

"Mum sent it," he said. "You seemed to have forgotten quite a lot, young lady," he bumped his shoulder with hers. "Getting clumsy, are we?"

She rolled her eyes at Fred's comment. "Shove it," Ginny said, but she was smiling. "Or I'll send mom a letter asking her to check under your bed."

"Already clean, sister dear," George grinned.

"And under the floorboards?" Ginny raised an eyebrow. She smirked when she saw the unamused looks on Fred and George's face.

"Yeah, that's right, Ginny!" Ron piped in. "I think I have some more hiding places for you—,"

"Ronald," Fred cut in, "is this a conversation you think wise to join?"

"Yes, Ronny. Don't forget we know that last year when you were in the bath you were—," George began but was interrupted by an alarmed Ronald who was flapping his arms in protest. His ears had gone pink with embarrassment.

" _Everybody_ knows about that," Ginny added unhelpfully, to Ron's horror, "so technically they don't have anything against you."

"Right, Gin, thanks. That's makes me feel loads better," Ron sulked while everyone laughed.

Hermione watched the playful sibling exchange and yearned for something similar. She averted her eyes to the newspaper in her hand, before looking at her companion whose face sported the same yearning as her own. Watching the siblings bicker, Hermione saw that Harry too wished he had a sibling like the Weasleys. Hermione nudged him. _At least we have each other_ , she was saying. Harry seemed to have understood her message because he nudged her back, smiling.

"What on earth is _this_?" Dean whispered, his eyes wide with horror at the plant in his hand. Harry only gave him a shrug as his confusion mirrored Dean's. Hermione could not help but bite back a snigger. It wasn't really Dean's fault. To be fair, the plant they were dealing with in Herbology looked like the wrong end of a baboon crossed with a reptile.

"Sometimes I think I'm in a dream," Dean said as Professor Sprout told them they had to lather the plant with smoothening and strengthening potions before laying them on top of each other in a bucket provided to each group. It was to help them bind easier with the soil later. Dean, Harry and Hermione were placed in a group.

"I know what you mean, mate," Harry said, rubbing potion onto his plant. "Last night, getting to Divination took me twenty minutes because I had forgotten about the stairs shifting. Even after all these years."

Hermione nodded in acquiescence. Even she had had problems with the stairs often. But also, she was amazed at how wonderfully different and diverse and _new_ the wizarding world was. There was always something new to discover. Though it did sometimes make her feel awkward and like an outsider…

"For Merlin's sake, Draco!" Hermione heard Pansy, who was grouped with Draco Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe shout. "It is _not_ going to eat you up. Just—just give it to me," Pansy said and threw the plant into the bucket, earning a frown from Professor Sprout.

"Ms. Parkinson, that is _not_ the way to treat these precious plants," the professor admonished. "And that is not that way to place them," she said and moved away annoyed with the unruly students and went to check on other pupils.

"Well how are we supposed to place them?" Pansy asked, frustrated.

"You're supposed to place it horizontally not vertically," Hermione corrected, biting back a smirk. She suddenly felt all eyes on them and a sudden silence. Hermione realized she had spoken to the proverbial 'enemy' without a hint of sarcasm or malice.

Pansy, who was as shocked with the outspoken advice as others managed to only nod awkwardly and do as Hermione instructed. Hermione ignored the odd looks and continued with her work. She noticed Ron trying to catch her eye and pointedly ignored him. She felt a nudge. It was Harry.

" _What_?" she asked, annoyed. Merlin forbid a classmate helped another! They were acting as if she had helped Grindelwald himself!

"What was that?"

Even Dean had stopped his work, eager to hear her answer. "What was _what_? She asked something—and I just replied. Is there a reason to be snarky at every chance possible?"

"They're _Slytherins_ ," Harry said in a way which for him proved to be a reasonable argument.

"And are Slytherins forbidden to be relayed information on how to place their Reptakrolls correctly?"

Harry rolled his eyes at her question. "Hermione, they're—they're evil," he argued, at which Hermione gave him an annoyed look. Even he was forced to admit how childish he sounded. "It was just odd, I guess," he mumbled. Hermione did not deign to reply, choosing to reach for her plant and placing it in the bucket.

It was only when the class ended that Hermione allowed herself to heave a sigh of relief. She caught Pansy's eye, who was lingering behind her friends intentionally and gave her a small encouraging smile. She wondered if Pansy too had been questioned as she had.

" _Hermione_ ," Pansy said in a sing-song manner as she settled down next to her friend. They were sitting in the Room of Requirement, which had transformed into a huge warm room with a fireplace, sofas and cushions. "What are you doing?"

"I am doing my homework," Hermione said furiously scribbling away at the parchment in her hand. " _Pansy_ ," she added in a sing-song manner after a thought. She did not see but _felt_ Pansy smirk.

"Revolutionary as always," Pansy leaned over Hermione's arm to see what she was writing. It was about the time travel thing that she had been researching on for quite some time.

"Found anything new?" Pansy asked. Hermione looked up and the distance between them, Pansy noticed, was very short. She could see faded pimple scars, she could see how soft it seemed. Hermione's eyes were brown too, deep brown, they were—away, looking away from her. Pansy moved away.

"Not really," Hermione replied cryptically. Pansy was accustomed to this behaviour from her. She felt when it came to her work, Hermione guarded most of the research she found jealously. She was afraid of plagiarism or something, Pansy thought. She did not push.

"So...," Pansy began, waiting for Hermione to look up, which the latter did, though rather reluctantly. "Herbology," Pansy said, instead of explaining. Hermione nodded immediately.

"My housemates are wondering if they should mark me a traitor," Hermione scoffed, with a smile. "Not really, but Harry and Ron did seem very put off and were asking questions. Did you get any...?"

"Draco was asking me why you were so keen on helping," Pansy shrugged. "Apart from that they all thought it was a prank of some sort."

" _Draco_ did?" Hermione made a face as she went back to her scribbling. "I'm sure _Draco_ was curious as to why the mudblood was suddenly intruding," she muttered furiously under her breath.

"Hermione," Pansy said with a sigh. Hermione did not look up. "Don't call yourself that...And you know I would never tolerate Draco calling you...that either."

Hermione did not answer. She went ahead with her scribbling. Pansy knew not to push her friend so took out a book of her own. It was a while until either of them spoke.

Pansy was the first to break the silence. She kept her book aside and said hesitating, "Hermione, father said that we are to go to Chile this Christmas."

"But I thought we had decided that we'll spend it together," Hermione scowled. Pansy could see that she was upset and apologized immediately.

"I know, I'm sorry, Hermione," she said, "but Father is—he's _insisting,_ and it won't look proper if I reject him. I can't."

Pansy's shoulders drooped and her face was cast downward. She had been looking forward to spending time with Hermione this Christmas. They had all sorts of fun activities planned for them to do—Muggle and Wizard. But now none of them seemed possible.

"You know, for all your Pureblood ways, I notice the women are not entirely free to do what they want," Hermione bit out, angrily. Pansy sighed. She could see how angry Hermione was and did not wish to anger her further.

"Yes, they aren't," she conceded.

"Well, you can't take this lying down! You must—you must fight!" Hermione almost shouted. Pansy flinched but frowned at her outburst.

"Aren't I already? In my own way?" Pansy argued, though her voice was still soft.

" _No_ ," Hermione protested, although Pansy could tell Hermione knew she was not being fair. Pansy _was_ rebelling against the entire Pureblood institution by associating with her, by being her friend, by, by—

"Anything more would mean exile," Pansy admitted quietly. "You _know_ —," she began but was cut off by a very angry Hermione.

"Yes," Hermione snapped, irritated. "Yes, I know." Hermione shoved her books inside her bag. "I'll see you later, Pansy," she said, still extremely irritable and left slamming the door behind her.

Hermione's head hurt as she woke up the next day. The party they had thrown for Luna had gotten a little out of hand. The twins had managed to sneak in alcohol and though Hermione was not traditionally one for underage drinking, even she had to admit it would be too much of a damper to not enjoy the company of friends and get sloshed with them. She had realized she actually _enjoyed_ drinking. Although perhaps her quantities needed much amendment because her head felt like it would kill her.

Luna had really been touched by the party thrown in her honor and was even more delighted by the gift presented to her by Ginny and Hermione. "I will make good use of it," she had said in a dreamy manner, leaving Hermione and Ginny giggling. They made her promise to tell them when she did put it into practice.

Hermione let out a small groan as she clutched her head. She really ought to manage her alcohol better.

"Want a Sober-Up potion 'Mione?" A voice—George Weasley's asked her at the breakfast next day, when most of her friends from Gryffindor were in a sleepy, sick stupor from the night before.

"Yes, please," she whispered, reaching for a goblet of water for her throat was parched.

"5 sickles, please," George said holding a small bottle in his hand. Hermione shot him a glare.

"Really?" she asked, annoyed. George smirked and pointed to Ron, who was sitting a little away from her, happily munching at his food, before leaning closer to her.

"If it makes you feel better, I charged him ten."

Hermione could not stifle the chuckle that escaped her mouth despite her need to protest such harsh treatment of their own brother. She reached into her pocket and presented George with the fee.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you, milady," George said emphatically before going to others to sell Sober-Up potion. Hermione watched him with amazement as he managed to offer each suffering person a different price. She snorted in disgust and wonder as she reached into her goblet and poured it in her pumpkin juice. She looked up and ran her eyes over the Slytherin table to see if Pansy was present. She could not spot the dark-haired witch anywhere.

Hermione was really upset that Pansy had cancelled their plans. She had already told Mrs. Weasley that she would not be coming for Christmas this year and she could not back out on her word now. She felt too awkward. It had been so difficult to convince them to let her be in Hogwarts 'alone' for her research to suddenly go back on it. She was determined to not speak to Pansy at least a whole day. Though it would be the longest they had gone without speaking since they had become friends.

It was exactly five minutes later that she spotted the trademark pale-blond hair of Malfoy and the brown hair of Pansy making their way in. Why were they always together? Hermione hid a scowl. No matter how much Hermione complained about Draco having bullied her terribly to Pansy, the latter would only sympathize but make no attempt at breaking her friendship with the former. _I guess they are friends since childhood_ , Hermione bitterly consoled herself.

As if feeling Hermione's eyes on her, Pansy looked up and gave the former the smallest hint of a smile, but Hermione looked away, still annoyed. She knew she would have to speak to Pansy eventually but today would not be the day, she vowed.

In History of Magic, Hermione frowned and scowled as Professor Binns droned on about Pureblood laws and ignored Pansy who eagerly sought her eyes ought to further communicate her apology. In Potions, she sat at the far end with Neville, sulking thoroughly and even snapping at her partner when he added the wrong ingredient in their Sleeping Draught potion, feeling bad only when Snape threw a nasty remark at him. Hermione was determined to sulk her way through Care of Magical Creatures as she complained a little too-loudly than planned, "why _are_ we doing this?"

They were separating skin of slugs from their pus rotten bodies. It was a tedious and hideous task and something which was _not_ up to. Usually Harry, Hermione and Ron would always be open to oblige Hagrid but as Hermione was already at the end of her wits, she found it difficult to oblige anyone today. Apparently, her impatience had made itself known, for Hagrid replied not unkindly, "It's fer te snakes in the Forbidden Forest."

Although Hermione blushed apologetically, her interest was piqued. "For the snakes?" she asked, urging Hagrid to explain.

"The snakes from the muggle swamps are comin' to the magical 'uns—some climate problem," Hagrid said, sorting through Dean's bucket of pus, checking it for quality, Hermione guessed, "it's become uninhabitable fer 'em."

"Global warming?" Hermione asked, sympathetically but Hagrid only looked at her confused. Dean shot her a grin which she returned.

"It's a phenomenon," Dean explained, "which is making the earth turn warmer… is it because of that?"

"I s'ppose so," Hagrid shrugged, "Wouldn't 'ave known 'bout this if that boy hadn't told us. Said we ought to do something to save the snakes."

"Which boy?" Hermione asked, curious.

"Riddle," Hagrid said absentmindedly, going through Ron, Harry and her collection of pus. Hermione was surprised at Hagrid's answer and wished to ask more but he had already moved on to other students. Riddle discovering snakes that needed help in the Forbidden Forest? But how did he know—? And was he a muggleborn like her? Or perhaps a half-blood? Hermione found herself troubled with these questions but found no one to quench her curiosity, having decided not to speak to Pansy until her anger faded.

"But Hagrid," Hermione said, following him to Parvati's table. "H-how did Tom Riddle know?"

"Well, lad's a parseltongue, isn't he?" Hagrid picked up Parvati, Lavender and Hannah's bucket and held it close to his face. The girls flinched at his gesture. The mixture smelled awful enough to not hold it against your face. But Hermione took no notice, busy processing the new information Hagrid had given her.

" _Parseltongue_ ," Hermione whispered, amazed. "A parseltongue? Th-I did _not_ know that. But—," Hermione began again but her questions were drowned when a slug from Seamus' hands shot out into the air, plastering itself onto the back of Draco Malfoy's robes.

The class—except for the Slytherins—dissolved into laughter and even Hagrid took his time detaching the slug from Malfoy. Even Hermione couldn't help laugh. Malfoy could be heard complaining and groaning loudly as he was wont to. The usual threats of reporting the events to his father making itself known.

"Prat," Ron muttered grinning, "I know another place the slug could have done some good to him."

Although mildly horrified, Hermione could not escape the laugh that escaped her lips.

At lunch, Hermione was keen on eating fast to be able to go to the library, prompting Harry to urge her to slow down. "Hermione, you're going to choke if you eat that fast," he said casting a worried glance at her. But she only shook her head. She would have asked him to not worry but her mouth was full of food.

"Leave her be Harry," Ron said, " _I_ never choked on eating fast and I can eat much faster," he boasted.

Hermione shot Ron a grateful smile before heading to the library. She decided to move to the secluded spot near the windows but to her surprise, she couldn't find it. It was supposed to be adjacent to the section on Merlin's philosophy but it… it wasn't there! Unless…

Unless someone had cast a charm to avoid intruders. _Interesting_ … Hermione thought, _a challenge._ And she loved nothing more than a good challenge.

"I heard you gave Fred and George detention slips for six months."

A small huff of surprise escaped from Riddle. Was it at the comment or at her presence? Hermione wondered. He was sitting in the most inconspicuous corner of the library, with a Notice-Me-Not spell cast over him—to prevent intruders who might disturb his precious study time, but it had not stopped Hermione. Nothing would. She was told that no matter how good he was, he was a Slytherin at the end of the day. And that meant she had to deal in 'Slytherin ways' if she wanted to achieve her purpose.

" _Slytherin ways?" Hermione had asked Pansy to whom she had presented her predicament last week. They were lounging outside in front of the big lake. The sun was strong and warm against their skins._

" _Yes, surely you don't think Riddle would give you something for free. He is a Slytherin."_

 _Hermione had frowned. "And what would you suggest I trade him his knowledge for?"_

" _That you figure out. I have enough problems on my hands as it is—now, did you get the muggle potions like I had asked you to?"_

" _It's called a conditioner, Pansy, and yes, here it is."_

 _Pansy had ignored Hermione's comment and had continued to jab at the blue plastic bottle of conditioner with interest. "Why does this work better than all the potions?" she had murmured to herself before putting it aside and asking Hermione if she wanted to work on their Transfiguration homework together._

"Granger," Riddle huffed, surprised. "You broke the spell." It was not a question. But he did seem taken aback. Hermione gave him a slow smile and shrugged. Had he thought she couldn't? Truthfully, it hadn't been entirely easy. Her suspicions about it being a Notice-Me-Not charm were correct but partially so. The Notice-Me-Not charm had been combined with something that appeared to be a modification on the Disillusionment charm. It had taken several counter spells and a modification on the same to have the required effect. But she wasn't going to tell Riddle all of that.

"You gave Fred and George detention for six months," she repeated, her eyebrows raised.

"Yes, and?" He went about scrawling something hastily on sheets of parchment. His handwriting was neat, Hermione noticed, despite the urgency attached to the movement producing it.

 _It shows your need for vengeance_ , she thought to herself.

"And you sent word to their mother?"

The quill stopped. His dark brown eyes met Hermione's. She grinned, satisfied. "I am correct, aren't I?"

"Is there anything you want Granger?"

"Not really," Hermione sat down with her books. "I wish to study in silence."

Riddle looked like he wanted to say something sarcastic, something biting but he doesn't. He smiled politely. Saccharine sweet. "Of course," he graciously moved some of his books to make more space for hers. They worked in silence for an hour.

Riddle was the first to speak. "How did you manage to undo my spell?"

"It wasn't easy," Hermione said instead. She did not wish to reveal just how much she knew. She wanted to know how much _Riddle_ knew. But he did not speak. He just stared at her as if waiting for her to proceed. She doesn't.

"And?" Riddle prodded.

"And, I combined some of Gubar's theories on spell modification," she conceded carefully, "to understand how you had patterned yours. And then unlocked it."

"Unlocked it? How long did it take you?" There was a glint of interest in his eyes.

Hermione hesitated before answering truthfully, "an hour."

The interest in his eyes faded at her response. "Impressive," he said though his face proved otherwise.

"But not quite?" Hermione sulked. What did stupid Riddle know anyway? Hermione argued. It was the first time she had tried her hand at modifying a spell. An hour was decent. Decent? It was good. Excellent, even. If Professor McGonagall had witnessed it, Hermione knew she would be awarded with house points and compliments. Not 'impressive'.

"Do not fish for compliments, Granger. It's unbecoming," Riddle smiled. Hermione glared at him.

"Unbecoming?" she scoffed. "You're insufferable," she muttered under her breath.

"Did you say something?" Riddle asked, looking up from his books, feigning innocence. Hermione did not reply. She fumed quietly, tending to her books.

" _And I pretend to pray,_ " Hermione sang shaking her hands and waist in a manner Pansy found bizarre and funny. She sat surrounded by their books abandoned by the both of them a half hour ago when Hermione had decided to show her a 'boomb-ox'. Pansy had understood it as an ox of some sort. Perhaps a transfigured object. Though in hindsight she realized what an absurd thought it had been.

Hermione had come up to her an hour ago when she had been working on her Charms essay to apologize for overreacting. While Pansy had assured her friend that she was over it, she still did feel guilty that Hermione now had nowhere to go for Christmas and was bound to stay at the castle all alone. Her parents had already booked their tickets for their vacation and approaching the Weasleys, Hermione told her, would be too rude now. When Pansy had again profusely apologized, Hermione had only brushed it off telling her she might as well get some research done.

They had sat in the library hidden by charms and spells cast by Hermione while each worked on their assignments. After an hour they had decided to go hang out in the Room of Requirement where Pansy now found herself being subjected to what she considered awful Muggle music.

"Is this them—The Beatles?" Pansy asked, taking the boombox into her lap and trying to figure out from where she could find out the name of the artist. She knew where the little flat circle thing went, though. Hermione proved unhelpful as she was

" _California Dreamin'_ ," Hermione danced gesturing Pansy to join her. The latter only grimaced in response.

"I'm not sure what you're doing but it can _not_ be dancing," Pansy wrinkled her nose in distaste. Hermione only laughed.

"Oh Pansy," she said, "The wizarding world is at such a loss—missing out on such great music."

"So, these are a hit in Muggle UK?"

"Not really, an uncle who lives in the States brought it as a present. I had to practically _beg_ my parents to let me bring it to school. Life can be awfully dreadful without music see," she said as the song finished. She reached into her bag and took out another flat circle.

"Beatles?" Pansy asked, not because she was keen on the Muggle band but just for the fact that it was the only Muggle band whose name she could remember so far.

"No," Hermione said with a conspiratorial smile. "Something better."

"Pansy Parkinson, I welcome you to the fold of punk rock music."

"This—this is _wrock!_ " Pansy exclaimed. "Weird Sisters? Howling Melons? Don't tell me you haven't heard of Beheaded Puffs?"

"No, I haven't," Hermione bristled. Pansy gave her an exasperated look before reaching into her book bag and took out a _gramophone_ and vinyl records. "Pansy!" Hermione frowned, "you're—this was supposed to be _my_ time remember? To introduce you to Muggle music?"

"Yes, well, but since we were on the topic, I thought why not…" Pansy's voice trailed off as her hands busily worked to set up the gramophone.

"And you _just happened_ to carry a _gramophone and records_ in your bag?" Hermione asked, seemingly annoyed. Pansy only gave her an innocent shrug.

"Enough of your muggle crap, Granger," She said with a sweet smile, "let's listen to some real music, shall we?"

"Muggle crap?" Hermione sputtered angrily but her angry rant was drowned by loud rock music. She clapped her hands over her ears in an act of defiance. "I am _not_ listening to this until—," she began loudly but broke off in between for her words were said in vain. The music was too loud to allow words to be spoken at a decent decibel and Pansy had her eyes closed so no amount of miming would help Hermione communicate her displeasure.

"YOU'RE TERRIBLE," Hermione finally let out a shout over the music, crossing her arms across her chest. Pansy did not give an indication of having heard her as she continued to sway to the music but there lingered the slightest hint of a smirk if one looked carefully.

After her rendezvous with Pansy, Hermione made her way back to her dorms under the disillusionment charm when she bumped into someone.

" _Homenium revelio_ ," the person said before Hermione could react. Hermione could only stare in horror as her incantations broke to reveal her form exposed. She tried to look at the offender.

"Riddle? Is—is that you?" She asked, when she caught only a glimpse of his form.

"Granger?" The silhouette came to view and assumed the shape of Riddle. Hermione had to wonder if he was real. It was so dark in the corridor. "What are you doing outside?" he asked.

"Professor McGonagall had asked me to meet her," Hermione lied smoothly. "Were you—did you just come out of the girl's bathroom?" Hermione looked behind him, from where he had come out from.

"Meeting a professor at this late hour?" Riddle asked clearly ignoring her question.

"Yes, we had matters that needed discussing," Hermione said dismissively, "but what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, scrutinizing him. She knew he was breaking curfew. Perfect Riddle not so perfect after all, she smiled smugly to herself.

"You're breaking school rules," she pointed out. The facsimile of perfection plastered on Riddle's face cracked a little to reveal a glare.

"Excellent observational skills. Ten points to Gryffindor," Riddle said in a deadpanned voice. "I would appreciate it if you could keep this between us."

"Appreciate it? Appreciation never got anyone anywhere, Riddle," Hermione crossed her arms across her chest and resisted the urge to tut. _This is your chance, this is what Pansy was talking about. Trade, trade, trade._

"What do I get if I keep this secret for you?" Hermione said quickly because she saw a dark shadow fall on Riddle's face. He looked sort of frightening. And threatening.

"Would you like me to help you out with your research on time travel, Granger?" he asked coldly. Clearly, he loathed the idea of being blackmailed.

She hated to admit it, but she felt a little nervous. Was it because Riddle was a boy—a _man_? Hermione had not expected her sex to make her feel nervous. Rather, she did not expect to feel nervous because of another's sex. There was something frighteningly violent about him. Was it his sex? His gender? Or himself? Hermione did not know if there was a distinction between these of any particular importance. The violence or anticipation of it was warning enough for her to tread cautiously but in a manner that would prove most advantageous to her.

"No," Hermione murmured. She cocked her head to the side and regarded him, ignoring his raised eyebrow. What _could_ she take that she wouldn't otherwise get?

"Parseltongue. I've always wanted to learn it. Teach me Parseltongue."


	2. Chapter 2

Ginny Weasley felt the skin of her face sag against her skull, she felt her eyes lost flutter shut but she forced herself awake. She did not need to fall asleep and wake up screaming in the middle of the class, scaring everyone, or worse, not wake up at all.

The Healer at St. Mungo's annoyed her. Her healer's opinion on taking Ginny off potions was taken, Ginny thought, just to gratify herself and had nothing to do with Ginny herself. _Steps of recovery, Ginevra! This is the fourth step!_ Her healer had announced cheerfully.

Steps of recovery? Shouldn't the steps match her rather than her matching them? Ginny had wanted to scream and shout, but she knew that an excited voice was seen as the voice of the irrational, so she only politely smiled and requested for more time. She was rejected, of course. Then Ginny sought for an extension by a month. Which she was granted.

She hated this push and pull. Shouldn't therapy be about helping _her_? Not a bargain _again_ like—like—like it was with—but Ginny could not complete the sentence. The words, the thought remained elusive. What had she been about to compare it with?

The comparison was about to be with something terrible…. from what she suffered in her second year. But she could not remember. She just could not remember what had happened! She only saw dungeons and blood and so much blood—-STOP! Ginny reminded herself to stop. There was only destruction down this line of thought.

Sleep had evaded her but nights…she had found something else in the sleepless nights, hadn't she?

Nights, Ginny had become friends with. There was some strange magic in the night coupled with her drowsiness which made the early hours of the morning or the late hours of the night seem blurred, unreal, as if someone had rubbed their palm across it and eliminated all the sharpness that daylight granted it.

It was at night that she made strange friends. Once roaming down the stairs she had found herself at the edge of the Forbidden Forest with no memory of how she had got there. She had been drowsy and almost sleepwalking. A side-effect of the potions, she figured. She could never confirm because she didn't want to ask her Healer lest the potions be stopped immediately.

Standing in front of the forest she felt its horror dim in the quiet of the night. It felt welcoming. It felt almost as if the trees were asking her to come in and play with them. So, Ginevra took a step. And another. And another.

Before she knew it, she was in the heart of the forest; the roots of the trees lapping at her feet from where they were stretched out onto the ground; dragonflies sewed themselves into the night becoming almost fairies in this darkness.

Previously she would visit the forest when her mind was too befuddled, when things got too hard for her to deal with. But since Healer Mervyn had talked about cutting her off of her potions she had been frequent in her visits. She had wished to spend her nights in the forest than in her dorm, screaming her lungs out and startling her dorm mates.

She figured that way she could use the potions judiciously till then. It could last her even three months, she figured. She would take the potion only when things got so unbearable that she would not be able to hold back on her sleep. But till then, she would spend her nights in the forest. The forest with all of its horrors and with all of its magic.

Ginny took a deep breath. She felt someone behind her and turned to find a unicorn foal staring at her. The golden creature peered at Ginny before nipping at the grass and eventually snuggling against the base of a tree. Ginny watched the creature with awe and could not help but approach it.

"Do you think I will ever be able to sleep?" Ginny asked the foal, gently running her hands through its mane. But the latter only scratched at an irritable spot near its ear.

As she stood at the edge of the forest again, she wondered what she would see today.

Perhaps she should have asked, whom.

 _Fifteen Hours Ago_

"—mum was talking about Ron's _awful_ spell work this summer when he tried to help with the dishes," Ginny could be heard saying at the breakfast table when Hermione entered. "She hopes he survives his OWLS."

"I _have_ become better at spell work," Ron protested, and though he was frowning, one could see him fighting a smile.

"Oh really? Well, let's have it."

"What?" Ron said waving a toast in the air, "You want me to show it to you? Show it _now_? In front of everyone?"

"Yes," Ginny demanded.

"Well, you better be prepared to have your socks knocked off," he said. "Because this is serious business." He took a meat pie and shoved it into his mouth and held up a fist and opened one finger, and then another and another. And then finally opened his mouth which was empty. "Gone," he said. "I call it The Disappearing Act," Ron said grinning. Everyone at the table laughed heartily.

"I do hope you'd improve by the time we have our OWLS," Hermione said, a little concerned about her friends marks. Ron only shrugged.

"I'll be fine. Say, what are your plans for the day? Ginny, Dean and I are thinking of going to the Great Lake and playing some Quidditch or catch. Dean says he's got some muggle games he wants to teach us."

"I wanted to get some homework—," Hermione began but was interrupted by a "NO!" from Harry and Ron.

"Hermione, we've hardly seen you as of late, you're always disappearing to the library," Harry grumbled, though good natured. Even Ron was nodding solemnly. Hermione looked at them guiltily.

It was true that she had not spent as much time with them as she would previously and one of the reasons could be that she had found a good friend in Pansy who made for interesting conversation and fun, perhaps more than Harry and Ron.

And truth was that though she was going to the library, it was with the purpose of meeting Pansy there. Feeling guilty that she had neglected her other friends all this while she gave her acquiescence to be led to the Great Lake today. Getting some sun wouldn't be so bad, after all. She could meet Pansy later in the day.

Harry sat on the grass beside her and Ron was far off in the distance playing catch with Dean and Ginny. They soon had their wands out and were transfiguring pieces of marble before using it to attack each other. Hermione couldn't understand what on earth they were going about so gleefully. But it felt nice to soak up the sun next to her best friend, while they both watched their other friends play.

"Sometimes I think I will never get used to this world," Harry said.

Hermione smiled. "I often think the same."

"Dean was talking about how nervous when he had taken a telly to Seamus' house and declared barking mad by Seamus' mum and almost thrown out of the house," Harry grimaced.

"Maybe we should start a club. For muggleborns and students who were completely ignorant of their magical abilities."

"A grievance forum? That sounds a mouthful," Harry said, sniggering. Hermione rolled her eyes at the innuendo. "Perhaps it could include us collectively appreciating our muggle heritage? Godric knows I love cricket."

"And telephones."

"And computers."

"But what would it be called? Mug-Club?" Hermione snorted at the terrible name even as she suggested it. Harry only laughed.

"You did _what_?" Pansy almost shrieked. They were sitting in the library, working on their History of Magic assignment when Hermione had revealed to her friend the events that had unfolded between her and Riddle.

Hermione shushed her urgently even though they had cast a Notice-Me-Not spell and a Muffliato spell. "I asked Riddle to teach me Parseltongue."

"No," Pansy closed her eyes, irritated. Her eyes pierced into Hermione angrily when they opened, "you _blackmailed_ him."

"Same difference," Hermione shrugged, reaching for a book when Pansy slapped her hand. Hermione flinched at the pain and elbowed Pansy in the ribs. "That hurt," she complained.

"It was meant to. And what-what is this about Parseltongue? Were you not supposed to seek his help for your project?"

"Well, yes, but since the last time you mentioned he was a Parseltongue—I got interested. I mean, there aren't _any_ manuals on learning Parseltongue. Just books denying and denouncing it—but not really—,"

"And you decided you wanted to learn this language and also that Tom Riddle would be the person for that?" Pansy interrupted her, impatient and annoyed. Hermione always took _hours_ to explain things.

"Yes," Hermione nodded eagerly, " _I_ want to speak to snakes. I want to know what they're thinking—and how they _speak_. Merlin's beard, it could revolutionize what we know about language—and Parseltongues are so rare and nobody has actually considered it from a linguistic point of view, just an outdated orthodox superstitious perspective which seeks to demonize this art. Imagine Pansy," Hermione grasped Pansy's hand in her own, her eyes shining with delight, "imagine what it could prove. We could understand the ecosystem better, revolutionize linguistics—and Dear Lord, I think it would do good to involve Neville in this too."

Hermione went on muttering ingenious schemes under her breath at a speed too fast for Pansy's comprehension. It took Hermione a while to realize that Pansy was not only extremely quiet—which was unusual for her—but also, looked very worried. Her eyebrows were pulled together, and she was chewing on her bottom lip.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"I don't think it was wise what you did, Hermione."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Riddle is a great guy and everything but there are rumors about him. Rumors about his upbringing, rumors about him—," Pansy broke off, her palms clenching into fists. "He's doing things, I suspect. He's doing things which one can never really be sure of. I don't like him."

"Pansy," Hermione scoffed at her friend's concern, "Riddle is a nice guy. _You_ were the one who told me to approach him in the first place."

Pansy had a pained expression on her face. "Yes, yes, I did. But—I don't know. I thought—I didn't think it would be _parseltongue_ —I didn't think—he makes me uncomfortable. He's too—perfect. Smooth-talker."

"Pansy," Hermione said softly, taking her hand in hers, "are you not telling me something?"

"What?" Pansy asked, frowning. "I'm telling you—there's nothing _clearly_ wrong with him, of course but I just don't trust him with you."

"Are you—are you afraid that he and I might…," Hermione raised her eyebrows and nodded her head meaningfully.

"What?" Pansy tilted her head, suspicious.

"That he might steal me away, or something of the sort?"

"No!" Pansy protested, withdrawing her hand from Hermione's. "Merlin's beard, —" Pansy began but was cut off by a soft, "I know you like me, Pansy."

Pansy's eyes snapped to Hermione's. "Hermione, I don't—," Pansy began but Hermione only shook her head. "I always knew," Hermione shrugged.

"You knew?" Pansy whispered, looking shocked.

"Pansy," Hermione said moving closer, "your hair is perfect. And the muggle stuff I gave you pales in comparison to the products you can afford." She touched her face, and smiled, "I think you can say I had more than an inkling of how deep your affection ran."

"And you…?"

"If only you knew how much the luxury shampoo, I bought you cost!" Hermione huffed. "Do you think I do that for anyone?"

Pansy teasingly glanced at Hermione's hair. "I'm thinking not?" Pansy offered, a grin spreading over her face. Hermione glared at her, unamused before breaking into a chuckle.

"So—are we, are we dating now?" Pansy asked.

"Yes. I mean—are we? Do you want to?"

"Well, of course," Hermione blushed. "So—," Hermione began but stopped when she heard someone call her name. Both Hermione and Pansy froze before realizing that they were rendered invisible owing to Hermione's spells.

They soon found the owner of the voice when they came into view.

"Oh no, that's Ginny. She seems to be looking for me," Hermione said, apologetically because that meant that they had to cut their meeting short.

Pansy shook her head, "no, no that's fine. See you later? Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Hermione blushed, smiling. She could feel her fingers tingle with excitement and her stomach churn nervously. But it was a pleasant sensation, she decided. Pansy gave her a wink—at which Hermione could not help blushing fiercely—before leaving.

As soon as Pansy had left, Hermione withdrew the charms around her table, allowing Ginny to discover her. "Ginny," she called out in a whisper, "what are you doing here?"

She had been among the book shelves standing opposite to Hermione's table when she heard her friend call out to her. She turned surprised. "I—I have been looking all over for you. I swear I checked here….," she mumbled away.

"Sorry, I had some charms up because I did not want to be disturbed," Hermione explained, "I saw you and let them down," she smiled encouragingly and gestured for the younger girl to take a seat next to her. Ginny let out a sigh.

"Charms? Oh, thank Godric…. I thought I was for sure losing my mind," Ginny let out a harsh chuckle. "Speaking of losing my mind…," Ginny gave Hermione a pleading desperate look, causing the latter to consider her with alarm.

"Is everything okay, Ginny?" Hermione asked, taking Ginny's hands in hers.

"Hermione," Ginny said. "I need your help."

"Yes, what is it? Have you been—," Hermione began but Ginny cut her off with a,

"I need you to make me Dreamless Dream potion," she said.

"Dreamless Dream potion? Didn't the Healer prescribe you the potions? And—," Hermione began but was cut off by a shake of Ginny's head.

"Healer Mervyn wants me to stop taking potions. She's saying she wants me to 'take control of the narrative'. It's the fourth step of recovery apparently," she sighed.

"Ginny, if a Healer is saying that... Don't you think it's better to follow her advice?"

"No," Ginny gave her a sharp look. "Healer Mervyn doesn't know what I'm going through. She can't understand. I need that potion, Hermione. Or I-I won't be able to…," Ginny broke off, looking away, her voice heavy and cracking with emotion, "You have to help me, please."

Hermione locked her lips nervously. "Ginny, well of course I will help you, but you have to promise me that—that it'll be the last time," Ginny's mouth opened to protest but Hermione shook her head, "listen to me. I know you're not ready and I—I respect that. We'll wait until you are. Do you think you will be able to reconsider after the winter holidays?"

Ginny gave a hesitant nod. "If you still feel you must have the potion... We must come up with an alternative."

"Thank you, Hermione," Ginny said, "By when will the potion be ready?"

"It'll take me a while. You still have your prescribed ones, right?"

Ginny nodded. "Okay, good. I'll begin working on it immediately then."

"Granger," they both heard a voice. Hermione looked up in the direction to find Riddle standing near their table. "A word please," he said smiling at her and Ginny. Hermione's eyes immediately flitted to Ginny to gauge her reaction for it was not every day that Tom Riddle wished to have a word with someone. But Ginny, on her part, only said, "I'll see you then," and walked off.

"Yeah," Hermione could only say, and as soon as Ginny was out of sight, she turned her attention to Riddle. "Well, what is it?" she asked, curious.

Riddle only smiled and said, "Are you free tonight?"

"Ginny," someone—Harry, called out, causing Ginny to look up from where she was curled up next to the fireplace in the Gryffindor common-room. He sat down next to her, smiling. Ginny thought Harry's smile was perhaps the kindest she had ever seen, even his eyes.

"Hello Harry," Ginny said, returning the smile. She knew he'd want to know everything about her night time escapades, about her insomnia but she couldn't tell him. Not to Harry.

He was the Boy-Who-Lived. She didn't want to be the crazy girlfriend... She didn't want to add to the mythology of tragedy that surrounded Harry. Also, she didn't think Harry would understand, or could understand.

She loved him, and he loved her, but she often wondered if the Harry's mythology had not also made him insensitive to other people's invisible losses apart from endowing him with a savior complex.

She wondered why Harry could not just _see_. Why could he not _see_ her? Why could he not see her suffering? Why could he not... But of course, that was unfair to demand of him, wasn't it? To guess at her thoughts? At her suffering which was invisible... But if Ron could see, if Hermione could... Then why couldn't Harry?

Why was there a need for words? If love could be felt, then why couldn't be suffering? Was there a need to dictate, to put into writing and letter and words all of her hurt, her humiliation and pain?

She needed more than Harry. Better. Sharper. She loved Harry and he her, but it wasn't enough. He wasn't there. He couldn't see. But he was a good friend so they would remain so.

"I was wondering if you…erm…," Harry grinned embarrassed, looking younger than he was, "wanted to go Hogsmeade perhaps? If you were not already, I mean? I mean, not already busy?"

"Harry, I'm not sure that's such a good idea…," She gave him an apologetic smile and saw the light in his eyes dim immediately and his smile tighten.

"Oh...," Harry no longer smiling.

"I—I think I should go," Ginny said, feeling extremely awkward.

"Where?" He almost demanded but catching the rudeness in his tone softened. "It's almost curfew isn't it?"

"Yes, but Hermione asked me to meet her at the library for a bit…so I'll go."

She did not wait to find out his reply. She had to leave soon before curfew or she would never make it to the forest in time. And tonight, she had big plans. Perhaps take out a broom and go across the forest, even the Great Lake if possible.

"Riddle," Hermione said as they neared the daunting forest, "what work did you say you wanted help with?" she asked not for she was afraid, but because she felt she deserved to know at least now—when they were only a few feet away from the said forest. Riddle should be comfortable to let her know now, right?

" _Are you free tonight?"_

" _Why?" Hermione eyed him warily._

" _Well, I need you to accompany me somewhere." Riddle looked at her like that proved sufficient explanation. Hermione scoffed in response._

" _No! I am not free tonight. Or any other night, for that matter. And, aren't we supposed to be doing classes for parseltongue?"_

" _Well, that's the thing. I'm afraid I'm not sure if I can teach it to you," Riddle said very seriously. Hermione eyed him suspiciously. What was he playing at?_

" _You don't know if you can teach it to me?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows raised and her fingers itching to reach for her wand and curse the living daylights out of Riddle. Riddle was behaving rather oddly, as if trying to back out from their agreement. But that was not possible, Hermione thought. Of course not. Riddle would not—_

" _I am not sure if I want to. Not without payment," he said enunciating each word slowly. Hermione's face twisted into a scowl._

 _"Payment?" Hermione asked, was he a pervert? Was that why he was asking her to meet her at night? "Why do I have to pay you? Isn't this you—,"_

" _I know you were not meeting Professor McGonagall," Riddle cut in. Hermione's eyes widened with surprise at his words. How did he know that? And did he also who she was meeting? Her heart beat wildly in her chest at the implication of being found out already! They had just begun dating… It wouldn't make sense to—_

 _"What kind of payment?" Hermione asked hastily. Riddle smiled. It was unsettling but Hermione did not pay much attention to it. She wanted to stop talking about last night's events. Riddle could not know that she had been meeting Pansy._

 _"You have to accompany me to the Forbidden Forest."_

" _The Forbidden Forest?" Hermione almost shouted in surprise. Had Riddle entirely lost his marbles? Roaming the corridors past curfew was one thing but to be caught in the Forbidden Forest—that would mean expulsion!_

" _You can choose to decline," Riddle said, all the while knowing that there really was not a choice and there never is in blackmail._

Hermione was an able witch and she knew that whatever Riddle would ask of her would not be life-threatening. He was a Prefect after all! It was probably an errand which required the assistance of an abler and more intelligent mind than Riddle was currently surrounded by in his House, Hermione deduced as she followed him down the path which lead to the Forbidden Forest.

"What's your need to learn Parseltongue?" Riddle asked, instead of answering her question.

"Curiosity," Hermione said, side-stepping a rock to press on flatter ground. The grounds were spread around them in silence and although night had cast great shadows over the land, the moon was still bright enough to coat everything in a cool blue hue. Hermione could see owls from the Owlery running errands.

"I was hoping to learn Mermish too," Hermione added nervously when Riddle would not reply to her earlier admission. "Did you know Dumbledore speaks Mermish?"

"No, I did not," Riddle said flatly. He stopped. Hermione, who was behind him, also stopped to see what had caused the abrupt action.

They were at the edge of the forest.

"Well, come on in then," he said. He almost seemed familiar with the place. Was he a regular visitor? Did—did Hagrid not say that it was Riddle who had discovered the snakes near the Forbidden Forest? Would that be possible if Riddle was not a frequent visitor? But why would one

"Something the matter?" Hermione heard Riddle ask. His voice sounded fainter than before. When she looked up at him, Hermione realized she had been staring hard at the forbidden forest without moving.

"Why are we going in the forest?" Hermione asked again, unmoving. Riddle, who was at a distance from her seemed to have not heard her for he gave her an irritable look before asking, "Are you scared, Granger?"

She ignored his jibe and asked again, "What are we going in the forest for?"

"You'll see," he said, gesturing for her follow him, but she did not.

"I'd like to know now, I think."

" _Now_?" He asked, his voice had pitched, a little shrill, Hermione almost flinched under its sharpness. "You think _now_ would be a good opportunity to learn of this when we stand in the open exposed to another prefect or professor roaming the halls?" Riddle asked, walking up to her. She tried her best not to show how intimidated she felt now that the distance between them had been reduced.

"You better hurry then," Hermione said, defiantly. She crossed her arms across her chest.

"We're—we're going to be meeting unicorns. I require their hair," Riddle said, his glance flitting to behind them, at the castle. " _Now_ can we go?"

Hermione nodded as she made to move. "Why do you need unicorn hair for?" Hermione asked even as she started remembering all the potions one might need unicorn hair for. "Why don't you just use the ones in the school?"

"Mind your step," Riddle pointed to the root of a large tree, spread across the forest ground. "And I need the hair for a potion I am working on for my NEWTS."

"Already?" she did not miss that Riddle did not explain why he did not use the one already in the supply closet.

"Yes," and that was all Riddle said.

"So how long are we supposed to wait?"

"Until the unicorn shows up."

"And how do you know the unicorn will show?"

"It will," Riddle said tersely. Hermione could not help the huff of frustration that escaped her. Riddle was being incorrigibly cold and stiff. Upon entry into the Forbidden Forest, Hermione thought they would be attacked by goblins and wolves and what not, perhaps fueled more by the fairy tales she had read as a kid than on anything she had read on the forest.

Presently they were just sitting a few feet apart from each other, at the base of the tree waiting for a unicorn to turn up. And they had been waiting for an hour when Hermione's patience began running thin. But Riddle would not pay heed to any of her complaints. He refused to even entertain any conversation for fear of alarming any approaching unicorn foal.

And although they waited, no unicorn came. But something else did.

She had been in the forest for more than an hour now.

The cool breeze in the forest helped calm her nerves which had suffered excitement from all of the sneaking around. The grass in the forest was moist against her sneakers and she wondered if they had already become so worn out and thin that the ground could seep into her feet. She did not mind it too much but knew that soon they would become unwearable and demanding a new pair from her mum would be an ordeal… she shrugged off the thought. She could think about it later. She didn't _have_ to walk, she thought triumphantly to herself as her palm clenched around the broom. She could always just fly.

Ginny mounted the broom and decided to go westwards. She had yet to explore that part of the forest. Luna had been telling her that inside the forest was a pond where wrackspurts bred to create flowers full of moonlight. She had been excited to discover those for herself, and if possible, even take some back for her friend.

She flew across the forest, feeling the cool air brush roughly against her face. She cast a warming charm over her face before concentrating on finding the pond.

That was when she heard it.

"What is _that_?" Hermione asked, jumping to her feet. Riddle did the same. They had heard a terrifying rumbling, the earth beneath their feat shaking.

When Riddle did not answer her question, Hermione turned to look at him. He seemed to be frowning.

"What is it!?" Hermione hissed, annoyed. She knew he knew. She could tell from the determined defensive stance his body had taken.

"Do you know any defensive spells, Granger?"

"NO!" She screamed, although it was not entirely true. But she was really frustrated and terrified. She needed Riddle to stop—to stop speaking in riddles and tell her straight what was coming towards them. But Riddle did not seem inclined to explain.

But he did not need to for the creature came in sight: a forest troll.

Hermione could not control the shock of horror that overcame her. She turned to look at Riddle to ask what to do but he wasn't there. He had disappeared! The thought of being abandoned would have made Hermione really angry but the present could not afford her such luxury as she had to run for her life. She really was going to kill Riddle though, she decided. If she was not killed before, that is.

Ginny stared in horror as she saw a troll tramping across the forest. Was it running away from something? Ginny watched, fascinated from above as the creature ran, destroying everything in its path. As Ginny watched, a thought entered her mind widening her eyes. Was it running away or rather running towards something? Chasing something?

She immediately swooped down lower to get a better look and saw from among the tops of trees, a person running away. A person with wild bushy hair—Hermione! What on earth was she doing here!? A rush of cold ice flowed through Ginny's veins at the discovery of her friend being pursued by a dangerous creature.

She immediately shrugged off the shock and swooped down to help her friend. She threw a stunner at the creature, but it seemed ineffective. At least it proved of something as a distraction. Hermione had still not spotted her, busy running for her life.

While attacking the troll to best of her abilities in order to allow her friend more time to escape, she was careful to be out of the reach of the troll. The dangerous creature could not fathom where it was being attacked from, although the attacks were futile against its thick skin, proving to be more of an annoyance than anything.

Ginny wracked her brain on how to defeat a troll but could not come up with any solution. She decided that the only way she could help Hermione was by pulling her out of there. There was no defeating this troll. Throwing as many powerful stunners as possible, Ginny quickly scooped down and burst forth, powerfully accelerating towards her friend and pulled her onto the broom.

Unsuccessfully, though. For Hermione, at the shock of being pulled, tripped over the root of a tree. She let out a terrified shriek.

"Hermione, get on the broom! Now!" Ginny urged. The troll had discovered them and was only a few feet away. Ginny saw Hermione's eyes widen in shock, perhaps wondering what on earth Ginny was doing there, but seeing something behind—probably the approaching troll—Hermione did not waste another second and jumped behind Ginny.

"Hold onto me!" Ginny cried and Hermione immediately wound her hands across her friend's waist tightly. For the love of all witches and wizards in heaven, Ginny muttered under her breath, _let me fly_ she prayed. And she did.

The broom, although not of the best quality and the fastest in the world, proved sufficient to allow them to escape the enraged troll. As Ginny flew higher and higher, her mind leaving her body as she adrenaline only urging her to reach the highest summit to ensure their security, she soon found herself among the clouds, her vision blocked.

"Ginny," she heard her friend say from behind her, weakly, "I think we have come high enough." Hermione's voice was muffled from her face behind pressed in Ginny's back. Her arms were still very much wound tightly around Ginny's waist in a painful manner. Ginny soon remembered that her friend was terrified of heights and flying.

"Sorry," she muttered as she lowered them. When they were beneath the clouds, but still far above the forest, she spotted something glowing. A pond...surrounded by moon flowers glowing brightly! Ginny excitedly began rapid descent and felt Hermione squeal in surprise behind her.

"Hold on tight, Hermione," she warned her friend, who only whimpered in response.

As they neared the ground, Hermione's hold on Ginny slackened and when their feet touched the ground, Hermione got off quicker than Ginny had expected and immediately collapsed on the ground.

"Hermione!" Ginny rushed to her friend, abandoning her broom on the ground where they had landed. "Are you alright?"

Hermione had her eyes shut tightly but looked otherwise alright. "Yes, a bit tired," she seemed to force out. Ginny rubbed her friend's arm as Hermione sat upright.

"Thanks for saving me, Gin," Hermione said, smiling weakly. Ginny shook her head.

"That's alright. What on earth were you there for though?" Ginny asked but Hermione let out a gasp. Having come to her senses, she had been looking around to gauge where they were and was astounded by the sight of glowing flowers and what seemed to be the most beautiful pond behind Ginny. Ginny followed her friend's gaze and allowed herself to be overwhelmed by the sight too.

The pond in front of them was laid out in the darkness glowing because of the moonflowers and the… were they Wrackspurts? Ginny wondered, which were like little bulbs buzzing around the water and the flowers.

"Gin, what—what is this place?" Hermione whispered.

"I'm not entirely sure," Ginny replied honestly. "But it's beautiful, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded. The two girls sat in silence, soaking up the warmth of the pond in the cool night. The shock from the terrifying situation they had found themselves not fifteen minutes ago seemed to ebb and they found themselves relaxed.

"I had no idea something so beautiful could exist…amidst something so terrifying," Hermione said after a while. Ginny nodded. She wanted to tell Hermione that it was Luna who had told her about this place, but she did not want to let Hermione know that she was a frequent visitor.

"I cannot believe we chanced upon this," Hermione said, and Ginny immediately felt she knew where this conversation would lead to if she did not stop it. Hermione would ask her if it _was_ indeed a coincidence and although it truly was, she knew Hermione would wish to know more and Ginny did not want to lie to her friend.

"Yes, quite a surprise," Ginny said, and then quickly added, "I think we should get back though. It's getting really late."

"Yeah…," Hermione said, unmoving. The atmosphere was too relaxing. She saw something across the pond, in the bushes move and jumped to her feet, urging Ginny to do the same.

"Gin—," she said urgently, "there's something in the—," but Hermione could not finish for the thing made an appearance and it was a …. Hermione gasped. It was a unicorn! She was so enchanted by the sight that she did not see her companion was unmoved having been around unicorns so very often during her previous visits to the forest.

The creature was beautiful and majestic as it came forth and drank slowly from the pond. It spotted them but did not run away. Only calmly gazed at them before continued to drink her fill and then settle itself into the soft grass next to the pond.

"Ginny, I need your help," Hermione looked to her friend, "I need a hair of the unicorn."

"What _for_?" Ginny almost shouted in surprise.

"For—for research," Hermione said. Ginny shook her head in disbelief.

"You're unbelievable," Ginny said. "What _research_ is this?"

"I am not quite sure myself…but please Ginny, help me."

Ginny looked at her friend skeptically before turning to look at the unicorn. They had to befriend the unicorn first and ask for the hair. If the creature consented, then they could have it. Luckily for Hermione, Ginny was well acquainted with unicorns and it did not take them much time to acquire the hair.

"Shall we go now?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione hugged her friend and then hopped onto the broomstick.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked after a while. They were just about to reach the edge of the forest.

"Yeah?"

"What were you doing out here?"

"I couldn't sleep…so I wanted to come out for a ride."

"Oh."

They did not speak anymore, until they were safely inside the castle and then sneaking their way into their dorm. "Good night, Gin," Hermione whispered, giggling.

"Night, Hermione," Ginny giggled back. They both couldn't believe the night they had had. It had not been half bad, Ginny decided as she got into her bed. She was thoroughly exhausted, and her eyelids drooped to the spell of sleep. But none came. So, she lay awake in drowsiness, in this mock-up of sleep until dawn came and it was time to rise.

At breakfast the next day, Hermione was cheerful because of the wonderful sights she had gotten to see with Ginny, but she was still miffed with Riddle for abandoning her. He was such an arse. She was going to kill him. Her annoyance with him escalated to rage when she saw him at the table. She wanted to break every bone in his body, and —- Riddle's head turned in her direction and he caught her eye. He did not look pleased either. Hermione frowned. What did _he_ have to be miffed about?

She saw Riddle jerk his head towards the gate. He wished to meet her outside it seems. Well, it could wait till after the breakfast. She wanted to curse the hell out of him. If it hadn't been for Ginny, she was not sure she could have escaped unharmed or even alive!

And well, in response to Riddle's annoying jerk of the head—which was a rather rude gesture, Hermione complained in her head—Hermione would first finish her breakfast. As things were, she had not been able to catch a good night's sleep and to be deprived of nutrition would be a complete injustice against her person, she decided as she leisurely took a sip of her pumpkin juice. She refused to look at the Slytherin table again. She knew Riddle would be stewing in anger. And it served him right, according to Hermione.

After finishing her breakfast, Hermione left the hall to go to the library to catch up on some reading before class when she felt someone tug at her robes and pull her into an alcove. It was Riddle and he looked mighty furious. And then he did something which shocked Hermione. He—he _hissed_.

It took her half a second to realize that Riddle was speaking in Parseltongue and could not help be wonderstruck at the way the language sounded. It was so bizarre yet… fascinating. But then she remembered she was irritated with Riddle and frowned immediately. Her irritation was further fueled by the fact that he was supposed to be teaching her the damn language! Not hissing at her!

"Well, what is it? If memory serves me correctly, we are yet to have our first class on Parseltongue so whatever you—you _hissed_ there, escapes my understanding," Hermione bit out tapping her leg impatiently. At her comment, Riddle's own eyes widened before he cleared his throat. Had he not realized he had switched?

"I was saying," he said again, forcefully, " _Where the hell did you disappear to last night?"_

"Me?" Hermione almost shouted with rage, "Where the hell were _you_? I turned back and then suddenly—you were gone! Run away at the first sign of danger!"

"I did not run away," Riddle ground out, angrily, "I was casting a spell, fighting the damn thing but then you disappeared!"

"Casting a spell from where, exactly? You were nowhere and we had to run, hadn't we? _I_ had to run, after being abandoned."

"And _I_ had to fight that troll all by myself," Riddle said coldly.

"You—you fought the troll?" Hermione's eyes widened in alarm as she scanned his body for injuries. There were none. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "And you—what? Defeated it?"

"Yes," Riddle declared proudly. Hermione only huffed in disbelief.

"What? Find it hard to believe?" Riddle asked, his eyes shining with anger, "if only you had not run away, then the fact would not seem fiction to you," he sneered.

Hermione felt a flush of anger creep up her neck and heat her cheeks. "I would not have run away if you had not runaway first abandoning me!"

"I'm telling you—I did not abandon you! I was merely buying some time to cast the spell—,"

"Buying time?" Hermione growled, "You mean, using me as bait? I can't believe—,"

"—and if you had stayed, you would have seen it. We both could have gotten alive and—,"

"—you are truly awful Tom Riddle. I can't believe that you—-,"

"—and we could have gotten the unicorn hair. But because you were such a daft—,"

"—would feel no guilt about putting my life at risk like that AND DON'T CALL ME DAFT," Hermione shoved him, angry. Riddle's lanky figure slammed into the wall behind harder than Hermione had intended. Her guilt cooled her anger down but Riddle however looked murderous.

"Do _not_ call me daft," Hermione warned. "After last night, you should be thankful I'm even standing here speaking to you."

"You seem to forget, Granger," Riddle began menacingly, "that it was not a _favour_ that _you_ are bestowing on me but part of our deal. Otherwise I might have to start asking the hard questions, such as why you were out of bed at night that day, who you were meeting." A triumphant smirk spread over Riddle's face when he saw the panic on Hermione's face. She immediately schooled her features into a stony expression.

"You're despicable," she bit out.

"And you still have to hold up your end of the deal. And that means that we go again, tonight—," Riddle began but Hermione shook her head, cutting him off effectively.

"There is no need for that," she said calmly. She had not intended to do this, but he had left her no choice. And there was no way she was going back to that forest, or worse, even associating herself with him again.

Riddle looked like he wanted to say something, but he was holding himself back, watching her curiously. Hermione reached into her pocket and took out the unicorn hair she had been keeping in it, unsure of what to do with it.

His eyes shined with surprise. "How—," he began but Hermione shook her head.

"I think this should suffice, then?"

"Yes," Riddle said absentmindedly as he greedily reached to snatch the hair from Hermione's palm. Once in his grasp, it was as if Hermione had ceased to exist. She turned to leave when he heard her say, "See you tonight at six in the library, then?"

"For?" Hermione raised an eyebrow, curious.

"For our first lesson in Parseltongue," he smirked, and Hermione could not help but smirk back.

Wasn't it only a second ago that she had decided to cut all association with him? But in the face of knowledge, Hermione found none greedier than herself. And after all, hadn't she escaped unharmed? And she wasn't going to enter the Forest again with Riddle again. It was just going to be lessons in the library.

"Don't be late," she warned. He did not reply, too absorbed with the unicorn hair.


	3. Chapter 3

Can we not hear in the resonances of queer protest an objection to the normalization of behavior in this broad sense, and thus to the cultural phenomenon of societalization? If queers, incessantly told to alter their "behavior,"can be understood as protesting not just the normal behavior of the social but the idea of normal behavior, they will bring skepticism to the methodologies founded on that idea.

 _Fear of a Queer Planet: Queer Politics and Social Theory_ by Michael Warner

Among the hundreds if not thousands of cases of homosexuality tried by lay and ecclesiastical authorities in medieval and early modern Europe, there are almost none involving sexual relations between women...Given the clear knowledge that Europeans had about the possibility of lesbian sexuality, their [relative] neglect of the subject in law, theology, and literature suggests an almost active willingness to disbelieve. - Judith Brown, Lesbian Sexuality

Somebody had been leaving notes.

In the pockets of his robes, in between the pages of his notebooks, in between pages of his textbooks, in between pages of his favourite books in the library. _How did they even know?_ Neville wondered.

There were so many bits of paper that Neville found a trail behind him like one of those fairy-tales Hermione had told him about in 2nd Year. The one where the muggle girl leaves bits of paper behind her because her brother and her were being lured into the forest to be abandoned… Neville shuddered at the thought. Finding himself suddenly sad at the thought of the orphans and then himself, Neville shook his head to shrug off the thoughts. What had he been thinking about again? Ah, yes. The…dare he say, _admirer_?

Nevertheless, the sender was a muggle-born, Neville had deduced from the strange contents of the notes. They had extensive knowledge about muggle science of botany. One strange note read:

 _Photosynthesize me_

And another:

 _Be my pesticide_

But perhaps, the strangest:

 _Gingerbob has two hearts,_

 _One mouth and one knee,_

 _I have none_

 _For you have everything of me._

No one knew of Gingerbobs. Neville was sure of that. The study of gingerbobs, which was a cannibalistic aquatic plant was fairly new and a niche subject. There was no way that a student at Hogwarts, apart from him, could have access to this knowledge. Professor Sprout had only handed him the journal in which the study was published last month! And only to him.

So muggle-born and interested in Herbology, Neville concluded, albeit reluctantly.

The contents of the notes were invisible to the eyes of others. And Neville was thankful for that because he was not prepared for anyone to find out about this. Not before he was even sure if it was a prank or not. Today it was, _I see you in my dreams._

Who was this person?

It had started a month ago and Neville had ignored the first few ones which had _cutecutecute_ scribbled on them, incinerating them when he wasn't sure if it was a prank. He was in class—in Potions class—and after a humiliating incident, finding those notes stuffed into his pockets and book bag had done nothing to calm his nerves. Especially when he could still hear the sniggers of Slytherins. Of Vincent Crabbe and Draco Malfoy doing impressions of him, and an enraged Hermione hissing back. Neville had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

The notes had not helped. He dreaded the possible vulgarities they might contain. The cute comment scribbled across had spooked him out more.

"Harry," Hermione giggled as she wound her arms around her best friend. "You're absolutely barking mad!" she exclaimed. Harry hugged her back affectionately before he pulled away, grinning. He handed her the paper signed from Dumbledore saying that Mug-Club was an official club, to be operated by students and working under the leadership of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.

"You seemed so excited talking about it the last time, I thought why not…," Harry's voice trailed away as he saw his best friend engrossed in reading the permission slip again.

"We must let everyone know!" her head snapped up, eyes shining with excitement. "But first, we must decide who can be a part of this."

"And who cannot," Harry added, though a little uncomfortable. Hermione's face fell too at the mention.

"Well, yes," she said, "it's—it's obviously only for those who have been brought up in the muggle world. Half blood or Muggle-born."

"Right…," Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck, nervously, "do you think…?"

"No," Hermione snapped. "He shouldn't." But then added nervously, "Right?"

Breaking it to Ron was perhaps one of the most awkward things ever. Ron was quite sensitive about being left out of things, seeing as he was already subjected to much exclusion as he was the youngest brother in his home, and best friend of Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived and Hermione, the brightest witch of her age. The club did not appease his insecurities. Although he was not outright unpleasant about it, a fact Hermione and Harry were grateful for, there was still an air of discomfort whenever talk of the club came up. But at least Ron was trying.

The first session with witches and wizards of muggle parentage or with muggle history was relaxed. Harry and Dean talking about creating a cricket team with Penelope Clearwater and Colin Creevey; Sushmita Mishra from Hufflepuff, Lee Dam and Henry Jones from Slytherin, were keen on creating a music club of some sorts—they were still working out the details; Sonia Vasiliev and Michael Davies from Ravenclaw and talked about muggle theatre and possibly putting up a play in the future, if possible; and Hermione was interested in Muggle philosophy and literature but she was also going to be doing the monthly newsletter to let her peers and the professors know what their club was up to. In fact, she had already been deciding upon the font size and style, the length and colour of the parchment and its grand contents. She ought to also send Harry and Ron a draft first to make sure it made sense at all. All in all it had not been such an awful first day, she decided.

"How was your first day?" Pansy asked as Hermione entered the Room of Requirement. They were supposed to meet earlier but since Hermione would have her club meetings every Wednesdays from now on, they had decided to meet a little later than was wont to them.

Pansy had decided to come early and relax. She currently sat on the sofa reading a cheesy romance novel.

"It was good, and what are you reading?" Hermione asked, but did not wait for answer as she glanced at the book cover.

"Must you read that?" Hermione asked, as she took a seat next to Pansy on the sofa, stretching her legs and sticking her feet under the latter's thigh.

Pansy raised an eyebrow but allowed Hermione to snuggle her feet under her. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mean," Hermione began quickly, "it's—it's not exactly _literature_ , is it?"

"And what is, pray tell?" Pansy closed her book and waited for Hermione's answer. The latter shrunk under the former's undisguised glare.

"I didn't mean to belittle—or be elitist. I just meant, aren't you sick of those romances?" Pansy made to answer but Hermione interrupted her by quickly saying, "I mean, don't you wish there were stories like ours?"

Pansy's brow furrowed and her face softened immediately. "Of course, I—I do. But the wizarding world has hardly been open to _women's_ writing, much less lesbian literature. There's none."

"Did you..?"

"Check?" Pansy asked. Hermione nodded. "Of course I did."

Hermione withdrew her feet, pulling them to her chest. Her expression crestfallen.

"Perhaps we should write one then," Pansy suggested, hoping to cheer Hermione. She drew close to Hermione and caught a strand of hair to tug at it, drawing the witch's attention to her.

"Write? A story?"

"Yes," Pansy smiled. "About us."

Hermione inched forward to press a kiss against the witch's mouth. "What shall we call it?" she asked, withdrawing.

"Well," Pansy said, and paused to kiss her girlfriend before adding, "how about _The Adventures of Puck and Hinn_?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she could not help the burst of laughter that escaped her throat. "Have you been reading muggle literature?"

"I don't know, have I?" Pansy asked, pulling Hermione closer and kissing her. Hermione stretched into Pansy, lazily kissing her. Their kisses soon became insistent and Hermione felt her hands wandering to Pansy's breast but a wrist caught her hand. Hermione immediately broke away and sat up, feeling awkward at having crossed a line before asking.

"I'm sorry," Hermione began but Pansy, who was also hastily sitting up only shushed her.

"No, I—," Pansy said. "It's just—I'm sorry too. I—I'd like it if we took it slower?"

"Yes, yes, of course! I should have asked. I just," Hermione shook her head, breaking off. "I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable."

"No, Hermione," Pansy placed an arm on her girlfriend's shoulder and drew close to kiss her cheek. "It's alright. We're both new to this…to each other, yeah?"

"Yeah," Hermione nodded kissing her briefly on the mouth. "So, our story," Hermione began with a smile as the tension in the air diffused, "Puck and Hinn. Where do they meet? And wait—are they boys or girls?"

Pansy thought for a moment before answering, "That's the thing. No one knows." She smiled a wide Cheshire grin.

"Parseltongue?" Neville asked, surprised.

Hermione nodded, eagerly. "Yes, I've convinced Riddle to teach it to me. Once I learn it, I can teach it to you." Her eyes were shining with determination. Neville gave her an uneasy smile.

"Aren't you excited?" She frowned. She had been on her way to the library to meet Riddle when she had spotted Neville coming from the grounds. He had been glancing at a piece of parchment but had stuffed it when Hermione called him out to him. Hermione found it odd but did not remark. She was too excited to tell him about learning Parseltongue. But he did not seem as excited as she had anticipated him to be…

"No, no I am. I'm sorry I just have been occupied with some stuff…," he said and gave her a reassuring smile. "It sounds great. I'd love to learn it once you're done."

"Hmm," Hermione said, unconvinced. "Everything alright with you?" She thought about that piece of parchment again. She hoped Neville wasn't being given a hard time by anyone.

"Yes," Neville said brightly as they made to enter the library. A voice stopped them though.

"Granger." It was Riddle. He was standing outside the library, in an alcove, speaking urgently to… Draco Malfoy? Hermione's face hardened at noticing the latter. Draco scowled back at her.

"On your way to meet me?" Riddle asked after nodding at Neville in greeting. Hermione gave a curt nod. She did not want to talk about their _project_ in front Draco Malfoy. The arse who could not wait to poke fun at her at every chance he got.

"Meet _you_? Why would _she_ want to meet you? Starting another mud club perhaps?" Draco asked, letting out a dark chuckle.

"What?" Hermione hissed, angry. "What did you just say?" Hermione moved forward, her palm clenching into a fist and her wand hand raising automatically.

"Ignore him, Hermione. He's not worth it," Neville said, tugging at Hermione's robes but she ignored him as she aimed her wand at Malfoy's neck. She did not miss the fact that Riddle remained passive, disposed to watching how the scene was playing out. Of course, she thought bitterly, he was a snake too, wasn't he? Hermione shouldn't have counted on him to help her… or support her.

" _Mud club_?" Hermione spat again, fuming. It was such an awful name. She felt her stomach turn at the distortion, at the crude monstrous thing that Malfoy had made out of her sacred immediately drew back, cowering. "Say it again," Hermione threatened, "and you might not get away with a punch this time, Malfoy."

She lowered her wand and as Malfoy began to slump in relief, immediately pointed it to his crotch, causing him to let out a comical shriek. "I have learnt some interesting spells over the summer, Malfoy," she warned. "Don't make me use them on you."

"You wouldn't—," Draco began but someone cut him off.

"I think that's enough, Draco. Apologize to Granger," Riddle said. Finally deigning himself to interfere? Hermione thought bitterly. Well, she did not need him to come to her aid. She had taken care of the situation well enough, she thought. Just like men to suddenly come in at the end when everything has been sorted and pretend they had solved everything. Hermione scoffed at the thought.

" _What?_ " Malfoy almost shouted in disbelief.

"That's no need for that," Hermione sneered. "You can keep your shite apologies to yourself." She did not care for the look of annoyance Riddle shot her. She only shrugged and turned to Neville. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

Neville nodded, eyeing the two Slytherins before leaving for the Common Room. Hermione did not wait either to make her way inside the library. She was too angry with Malfoy and the stupid name he had given to her club. Fucking pureblood privilege. She was angry with Riddle for not saying anything sooner. She was angry—She stopped abruptly and felt someone halt next to her. "Are you alright there?"

Hermione's eyes snapped up to the owner of the voice. She couldn't help but glower at the innocent expression Riddle adorned. He was such an arsehole.

"Yes," she bit out angrily. She did not spare a glance at him as she went to the secluded spot they had done with homework together last week. Riddle quietly took a space opposite her. He seemed entirely unperturbed. '

"I've heard about your club," he said. Hermione watched him carefully. "Interesting."

Hermione sniffed. "And?"

"Only that."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're insufferable."

Riddle shot her a grin. It wasn't entirely pleasant. "You must have some thoughts though," Hermione mumbled, pretending to look for her notebook in her book bag. She did want to know what Riddle really thought of the club but she didn't want him to _know_ that she wanted to know.

"I'm afraid I don't see the point of it," he said in a clipped tone which made Hermione's mouth twitch in irritation. She barely managed to bite back a scoff.

"Don't see the point?" she asked, incredulous. "It's for the—,"

"I think it promotes isolationism. Separatism."

"That's just a fascist way of saying minorities need to assimilate."

"And what is so wrong with assimilation."

Hermione stared at him. Did he just— "What is _wrong_ with assimilation?" Hermione sputtered, furious. "Have you—are you so _daft_ as to be completely ignorant of the fact that entire twentieth century is a testimonial to the disasters of fascist theories of assimilation?"

Riddle's face remained impassive, much to Hermione's annoyance. Did her words have no effect on him?

"It would perhaps be better if we didn't talk about—,"

"And," Hermione cut in impatiently, her eyebrows knitted in irritation at Riddle's condescending tone, "Assimilation means death of the culture of minorities. Despite what _others_ may be inclined to feel about their heritage," Hermione did not notice the way Riddle's eyes flashed at the less-than-discreet jab at Riddle's heritage which was suspect at best, " _I_ for one am proud to be muggleborn. And I will not cower in the face of opposition. I think the wizarding world can benefit from gleaning the good from the muggle world."

"Is that all then?" He asked blankly. Hermione glared at him before giving a curt nod. Did he have nothing to say? He was so—"Shall we begin?"he asked, cutting through Hermione's train of thought.

"Yes," Hermione replied shortly as she opened her notebook. He glanced at it and then back at her.

"Parseltongue is an oral language," he began, "no script. Don't think in terms of sentence structures. Think of a series of morphemes attached to each other, and there are no tenses, like Chinese. I trust you know what a morpheme is?"

"Do _not_ make me stab you with my pen, Riddle. I will not hesitate."

Riddle only smirked.

As Neville entered the common room he heard a loud gasp followed by giggles. It came from where Lavender, Parvati, Cho and Padma sat, huddled in a group.

"Was it good? With those white-boy lips?" he heard Parvati ask Padma who was pink in the face.

"Excuse me, _white lips_?" Lavender began, in what Neville supposed was mock-rage, "I possess _white lips,_ may I remind you. And I kiss perfectly well."

"So _you_ say," Parvati muttered, before they all dissolved into chuckles. Neville too had to stifle a chuckle that would have almost betrayed his eavesdropping to the gang. He made his way to the empty armchair near the fireplace. He let his feet warm as he took out a book from his book bag to read. A piece of paper fell out of the book. It was charmed. What was the charm called again…? Neville could not remember. But remembered it to be something ironic. Folded multiple times, it would open further only if the answer of the recipient satisfied the questions on the paper.

 _Meet me?_

"What does it say?" A voice asked causing Neville to jump in fright. It was Ginny. He let out an embarrassed huff as Ginny shot him an amused look. She settled into the arm of the chair he was sitting in and leaned over to see the chit of paper.

"A 'Touch-Me-Not'?" Ah, yes. Touch-Me-Not, it was called, Neville remembered now. He immediately made to hide it.

"Yes," Neville said, shoving the parchment inside the pages of his book. Ginny made to snatch the book from his lap but he blocked her attempts—unsuccessfully, for she was stronger and had Chaser reflexes. With a snort of laughter she opened tapped her wand to the chit as Neville sighed in defeat. At least they hadn't attracted the attention of Lavender and Parvati, he consoled himself. Ginny, however, looked displeased.

"It's not working. It must be damaged or something."

Neville knew that was not the case for he had opened it a second ago. Charmed to be only opened by him? The sender was clearly very apt with magic. When Ginny gave him a suspicious look, he only shrugged. The red-head returned the paper with a frown which quickly turned into a coy smile.

"Who do you reckon it is from?"

Neville slipped it inside the book. "No clue," he muttered. "Pieces of nuisance, really."

"Pieces, _plural?_ Been receiving many, then?" Ginny asked, shoving his shoulder, letting out a laugh. Unwilling to say more, but unable to control himself at her teasing, Neville cracked a smile.

"I guess I _am_ more popular than you, Ginny Weasley."

Ginny scoffed in mock-annoyance. "You wish. I will have you know I am to be asked by the handsomest boy in Hogwarts to the Yule ball."

"Oh?" Neville raised an eyebrow, curious.

"Yes. You _are_ planning to ask me, aren't you?" Ginny asked, with an innocent expression on her face. Neville could not resist the laugh that escaped him.

"Well, I suppose I must, for I _am_ the handsomest boy in Hogwarts, aren't I?"

They both dissolved into laughter, with Ginny winding her arm across his shoulder.

"Oi, what's going on here?" They both heard someone. It was Ron. He did not look pleased. Neville spotted Harry awkwardly lingering behind Ron, his questioning eyes wandering between Ginny and himself.

"Oh, shove off, Ron," Neville heard Ginny say not unkindly as she withdrew her arm but remained seated. It did not have the desired effect as the tension between the four only grew, and though Neville forced himself to think of something to say, he found his mind absolutely blank.

"Hey Harry," he finally said. Okay, right? Harry gave him a weak smile. "Neville," he said.

"Gin, do you mind coming here and helping me out with something?" Neville heard Ron ask Ginny. And although he did not see the latter's face, he knew Ginny must have rolled her eyes because of the huff of frustration she let out. Harry and Neville both watched as the siblings began to whisper heatedly before being interrupted by George and Fred Weasley.

"Our little sister with _Longbottom_?" They watched as Fred—or was it George—ask loudly, on purpose of course, before bursting into sniggers with his twin. Neville and Harry quietly watched as the siblings bickered and in no time all of them were teasing each other and laughing. Neville sneaked a glance at Harry. He had always admired Harry. He was so brave and strong. He had lost his parents to Grindelwald and lived with muggles, of whom Neville had heard not one kind word; had defeated the troll when they were younger; fought with Snape; exposed that Defense of the Dark Arts professor who had been a spy for Grindelwald—all…so… effortlessly. Harry was so heroic. And had so many friends. Everything Neville yearned for. But as they both looked at the Weasely siblings bicker, Neville realized there was something both of them yearned for together. A family. Sure, Neville had his Gran…and he could see his parents in the summers and winter holidays but it wasn't like what the Weasleys had.

"Harry," Neville said quietly. "You—you do know Ginny and I are not like that?"

Harry sighed. "Yes—Yes, I do."

Neville gave a nod in acknowledgement before going back to his book. It was an hour before Ginny came to bid him good-bye, and then Hermione, who had just walked in from the library. He remembered what she had told him of her classes with Tom Riddle.

"Good session?" he asked.

Hermione only shrugged. "Tiring."

"Going to bed?"

"I wish. I have to work on the newsletter for the Mug-club," she said, as she sat on the sofa across from him.

"Oh," Neville said. "How is—how is it going? I'm afraid I don't know much about it," he said carefully so as to not offend Hermione. He did not wish for her to think he did not care about what she did.

"It's going good, thank you. We just had our first meeting today. And it's—it's more for wizards and witches with muggle-heritage to meet up and discuss our experiences." She looked a bit apologetic.

"Oh, sounds…good," Neville smiled. It did not seem very much fun to Neville but he did not say that. He could not understand what could be fun about getting together and talking about their culture. That's what they did every day in the wizarding world and it bored Neville to no end, didn't it?

"Well, I'm going to bed," He said, getting up. "Good luck on your newsletter, though." Hermione shot him a grateful smile.

Neville quickly made his way to the dormitory. Safely nestled into his bed and covers drawn, Neville took out the Touch-Me-Not chit and tapped his wand.

 _Meet me?_

Tap.

 _Tomorrow?_

Tap.

 _Library_?

Tap.

 _Eleven 'O clock?_

Tap.

 _Burn me?_

Pause.

Perhaps not right away. Neville tucked it in his book.

"Oi, Neville," Seamus called, "mind closing the window, mate?"

"Yep," Neville said, already swinging his legs to the side of the bed to get to the window. The stars were especially bright tonight and Neville wondered from the tall window of his room which overlooked the forbidden forest, who would be awake at this time, in this quiet stillness of the night. Unbeknownst to him, a Weasley was well awake and flying across the lake into the forest on a Thestral.

"A Pureblood club? They're starting a _pureblood club_!?" Hermione shrieked, unable to control her anger. She had come down from the dormitory in a rather pleasant mood with the thoughts of yesterday's meeting with Pansy still fresh in her mind, and the lesson with Riddle, which had left her feeling good and accomplished. But clearly today was to be different. For as soon as her raven-haired best friend had spotted her, he had directed a frown and urged her to hurry towards him. It seems that the Purebloods had again caused trouble.

She could not believe that purebloods and the—and the _administration_ could be so daft—so bloody racist that they could allow—were they allowing? Were they also in this? Did Dumbledore know? "Does the administration _know_? Has it been allowed? Is it official?" Hermione asked impatiently.

"No it hasn't. Dean just told me he heard Malfoy and Goyle talking about it," Harry said, reaching for jam to spread on his toast.

"On what _grounds_ , exactly?" Hermione watched irritated as her best friend proceeded to slowly spread the jam on his bread. She resisted snatching the food from his hand as she waited for him to respond. Merlin was he slow at times!

"They're saying," Harry said, "that it's unfair and racist that the Mud-club does not allow anyone apart from half-bloods and muggle-borns in so they're creating a counter-club."

"Un- _unfair_?" Hermione cried, incredulous. She turned to shot a look of absolute hatred at the Slytherin table, but unable to spot the despicable blond hair, returned to best friend to vent, "And, it's not like our club is _against_ purebloods joining! They can! If they've been brought up in the muggle-world, or a muggle guardian. They've absolutely got it wrong. Those racist pureblood snots! They just cannot handle it, if everything is not about them."

"It's just Malfoy throwing a fit, 'Mione," Harry said. "But you're right. It's bloody annoying."

"Everything alright?" They heard Ron ask, as he made to sit beside Harry. Hermione pursed her lips. She did want to tell Ron but would he understand? He was pureblood too, wasn't he? Luckily, she didn't have to make the decision as Harry said, "Nothing much mate, and it's just Malfoy who is being an utter prat."

"What did he do now?" Ron asked, scowling. Hermione appreciated the resentment expressed on their behalf and quickly jumped in to explain. By the end of it Ron was fuming along with his best friends.

"Well, that bloody well doesn't make sense does it?" Ron cried as he bit into a buttered scone. "I mean, did Hermione not clearly say tha last time that—that what was it?" His brows furrowed in concentration before smoothening out, "Ah yes, that the Wizarding world was a place that was already so exclusive and—and the club was to help the muggle-born students. What are they—how are _they_ crying about discrimination?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up into her hairline, impressed. "Oh Ron!" She cried as she reached around Harry to hug her best friend. "You read the draft of my newsletter I sent you and Harry?" she shot the latter a mock-angry look for he had yet to offer any comments on the letter.

"Always the tone of surprise," Ron teased, "Didn't understand a lot of it, but it was good, 'Mione," Ron said, his ears now pink.

"What do you think of paragraph two where I said—,"

"Okay I did not read the entire thing because you _did_ send it at a pretty late hour—,"

"Oh." Hermione frowned. "Well, that's alright. You will read it by tonight and let me know if there are any corrections to be made, though right?"

"Uh, yes I will…," Ron said, giving her a weak smile.

"Alright, let's go, we've got Herbology for first period," Hermione said.

"With the Slytherins," Harry added, shooting a glare at the Slytherin table.

"Okay, class, please pay attention," Professor Sprout called out, "I shall be pairing each of you with a member of a different House and dividing you into groups of two. One group shall remain here in the greenhouse to work on potting new plants I've got, and another has to go into forbidden forest to retrieve the pus of batworms. Now, now, there's no need to be anxious, Professor Hagrid has kindly agreed to escort the half who will be going to the forest."

"Oh great, now that big oaf will only kill _some_ of us I guess," Neville heard Draco Malfoy snort at the back. He didn't turn back although Hermione next to him did to shoot a glare at the boy.

Soon the professor starting calling out names of students to be leaving and then the pairs they were to form. "I'm not on it!" Hermione exclaimed from beside him. Neville turned to her. "Disappointed?"

Hermione quickly shot him an apologetic smile. "Ah, it's alright, I understand Ron and Harry are there," Neville smiled understandably. Hermione gave him a confused look before shaking her head.

"No, it's not that," Neville saw Hermione's eyes linger towards the crowd but before he could make out who she was looking at, she immediately caught his arm and said, "Never-mind. I've got you, haven't I?"

"Neville," Professor Sprout called out causing Hermione and Neville's attention to snap to the professor, "you will be paired with Mr Zabini, dear," she smiled warmly at Neville causing the Gryffindor to blush at the open display of affection. Sometimes Professor Sprout forgot they were in a classroom and it would not be appropriate to act friendly. But Neville had spent too many hours in the greenhouse and had too many delightful conversations with the professor for them to act as strangers. She had become almost a parent figure. A rebel parent figure, mind you.

Pomona Sprout was full of surprises and had even allowed Neville to brew an entire set of mandrake potions—with supervision—which was to be given out to the students petrified in Neville's second year. That's right, in his _second year_. Of course, although it was something to brag about, Neville didn't—couldn't. He was already teased about being odd-looking, about having an affinity for Herbology at all, and for not being particularly bright in Potions by the Potions Master himself! He had been too afraid to draw attention to himself to brag.

"Sorry," Neville looked at Hermione apologetically before making his way to where Zabini was seated in the back. "See ya at the end of the class?" he offered and Hermione was about to return his smile but her face suddenly froze in horror in a rather comical manner.

"Fuck me," she whispered, startling Neville. He had never heard Hermione curse before.

"Is something the matter?" Neville asked and before Hermione could answer he heard a loud voice from behind him saying, "Professor, I think it's unfair that I should be paired with—with that,"

"With that _what_ Mr Malfoy?" Professor Sprout asked sternly. Neville's eyes widened in horror. Hermione had been paired with Draco Malfoy, of all people.

"With _her_ ," Malfoy spat out. Neville was about to come to the defense of his friend when she spoke up herself.

"It isn't a party for me either _Malfoy_ ," Hermione said angrily. "Professor, would you please consider changing my partner? Neville and I could work tog—,"

"No, Ms Granger. I'm afraid not," Professor Sprout said not unkindly. And then she turned to Malfoy to whom she sternly added, "And I hope the both of you can work together peacefully like mature adults. I do _not_ wish to hear of anything untoward."

Malfoy looked like he was about to complain again but Professor Sprout had already turned away, announcing the rest of the pairs. "Alright, Mione?" Neville asked hesitantly. He had to go join Zabini who was shooting him impatient looks, but was also afraid for his friend.

"Yes," his friend said with an alarmingly bright tone, "I've learnt a _lot_ of nonverbal wandless spells over the summer. I've been dying to put them to use," she said as she urged Neville to go towards his seat.

"Alright then," Neville said, giving his friend an unsure smile as he made his way to Zabini.

"Zabini," Neville said in greeting. "We've got to start off with the jellybug beans. I'll go fetch them, if you're okay with that?"

"Longbottom," Zabini nodded, "And yes, thank you. You seem to know your way around here better than I do anyway."

"Yes," Neville replied curtly, disappearing behind the classroom, helping some of his classmates find their way too. When he had returned, he was pleased to find that the Slytherin had not been sitting idly but organized other ingredients they required to plant the shrub.

"I've seen you often in the greenhouse," Zabini said, after Neville and he had begun working. "Working," Zabini added.

"Interested in plants?" Neville asked.

"The plants are not what hold my interest," the Slytherin said.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that the grounds are wonderful too."

"Oh."

"The greenhouse keeper is not without his charms, though."

"What do you _mean_ the club is discriminatory? You don't even understand the point of the club, do you!?" Neville faintly heard a voice—Hermione's voice, in the background. Neville was too distracted by Zabini to react to the conversation—argument—Hermione was having with someone. Well, she was smart. She would survive, Neville thought, filling a tinge of guilt. But, more importantly, was Blaise Zabini _flirting_ with him? Blaise Zabini had never spoken with Neville before. Not to taunt him, pick on him, or even just casually. They had never crossed paths before. Neville wondered if they had ever been paired as partners—they had not. And to have Blaise Zabini here, flirting with him, was highly unexpected—not to mention alarming. But Blaise did not look like he held any malicious intent. Neville decided to test the waters.

"I'll be sure to tell Mr Podge then," Neville said. Zabini gave him a confused look. "The greenhouse keeper?" Neville asked innocently. Zabini's eyes widened and he licked his lips before breaking into a smile.

"Say, what are you doing tonight?"

"Nothing," Neville said realizing too late that he had been planning to go meet the person who had been sending him those notes. His…admirer? Neville was shy to use that word. It felt too narcissistic. It could just be prank, after all. But he was going nevertheless, to find out, wasn't he?

"Meet you at ten in the astronomy tower?"

Wasn't he? "Yeah," Neville found him nodding with a smile. Well, secret admirers, or pranksters, whoever they were, could wait. The noises behind them however grew to a decibel which could not be ignored anymore. Turning, Neville found Draco Malfoy and Hermione engaged in a heated battle of words—and more. Draco was lifting his wand when Hermione had disarmed him in the blink of a second.

"HOW DARE YOU RAISE YOUR WAND AT ME YOU PRIVILEGED PUREBLOOD PRAT, I WILL HAVE YOU KNOW YOU ARE A—," Hermione began, but Malfoy spoke over her promptly, "IF YOU THINK YOU'RE INSULTING ME I MUST TELL YOU—,"

"Ms Granger! Mr Malfoy! I urge you to sTOP THIS NONSENSE IMMEDIATELY OR I SHALL HAVE YOU BOTH IN DETENTION AND MR MALFOY PUT THAT BEAKER DOWN AND MS GRANGER IN THE NAME OF HELGA HUFFLEPUFF PUT YOUR WAND DOWN—,"

In the end, Malfoy and Hermione were sentenced to opposite ends of the room for the remaining hour, though no detentions were handed out. And though no one noticed, Neville and Blaise Zabini were still smiling throughout it all.

Hermione thought she was going to have an anuerism with the way her head was hurting. She could not take it. She seethed with anger at the injustices committed against her person. The world as she had imagined was not beautiful, and was not open to reform. She was not the first to try and she wouldn't be the last.

After Herbology class, Hermione found herself escaping to the library as the next two periods were free. She had not been bothered to tell Ron and Harry about her whereabouts. Though, she wondered if they would care very much. The boys would often forget she was there! Old feelings of abandonment and resentment stirred in her but Hermione pushed them away knowing it was not rational. She was just upset at stupid Draco Malfoy and projecting. She wondered if Pansy had heard about what happened yet or not? Was _she_ trying to look for her?

A spark of bitterness went through her. Draco Malfoy was _her_ friend too, after all, wasn't he? Her childhood friend, almost like her brother. Merlin, she often acted like his babysitter. Hermione still clearly remembered the time from last year Malfoy had invoked the wrath of Buckbeak leading the bird to attack him! He had entirely been at fault and deserved the injury, Hermione had felt. But of course, Pansy had worried day and night, gushing over him the entire time.

Hermione couldn't understand how Pansy could be friends with Draco despite the harsh treatment he meted out towards her. Didn't she care!? Hermione huffed in frustration. She knew it was unfair to think of such things when Pansy wasn't there to defend herself but she couldn't help but wonder. Didn't she matter too to Pansy? Why must she choose that racist rich snot over her? It felt like the whole world would always choose someone else, something else over her. She felt a pang of loneliness go through her.

With books on history, literature and criticism spread around her, Hermione felt her head droop to her chest with disappointment. All of these people with all of their wonderful thoughts—all of them were so difficult to grasp, to reach. Trapped in books, kept so far away. She wouldn't have found them if she hadn't been looking for them. But what about everyone who deserved to know this? Deserved to know this beauty existed? They would never know. These books were inaccessible because the realities they spoke of were inaccessible.

Hermione found herself in a fix. She was weighed down by categories, of _words, words, words_ which had never before this moment frightened Hermione. What was she? And was there really a need to define? To describe? Can one not be and relish in the being instead of putting it into words, words, words. And this feeling had frightened Hermione.

All her life Hermione had worshipped the words. They were always there. Always accessible. Compact. Clean. Comprehensible. Anything difficult would always have an easier sign to move to, to understand. What about Hermione? What sign signified her and what substitute sign was she to move to in order to understand?

Being without words, without definitions was wonderful, but also at times painful.

The world had defined her before she had had a chance to. Girl. Hermione. _Mudblood_. Lesbian. Bisexual. Was she _any_ of that? She wasn't sure.

She wanted to be able to tell all of this to someone, to wonder if someone empathized but she felt ashamed. Shrunken, small. She could not even speak of this to Pansy. Not yet. Not before she found the answers. Whatever they were.

"Would you like to talk about what's bothering you?" Riddle asked after she had sighed for the fifth time in the row. After Hermione had scoured through the library to quench her thirst for answers she had not found satisfactory, she had plopped down next to Riddle whom she had found in the library, doing his assignments. Not before breaking his wards, of course, much to his annoyance and to her immense delight.

"Have you ever felt trapped by the things you are?" she asked in a small voice.

"No," Riddle replied as he continued to work on his essay. Hermione gave him an annoyed look, at the terse reply.

"Never? You've never felt limited? Bound?" She asked, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

"I'm afraid not at all. Never."

Hermione pursed her lips stubbornly. "You're awful lucky, then."

"Has your awful disposition something to do with what I've heard occurred between you and Draco earlier today?" Riddle asked.

"No," Hermione answered immediately in her defence. But it sounded like a lie. Perhaps it was.

Riddle only smirked in response, causing Hermione to roll her eyes. But she refused to say anything more. She did not wish to appear weak, as if that terrible slimy Slytherin's words had affected her at all.

"What are you reading?" he asked, leaning over. Hermione leaned back, pressing her book flat against her chest. She knew it was futile, for the book was snatched presently held between Riddle's fingers, his eyes scanning the content with a hunger which startled Hermione. But the hunger dimmed to give way to disappointment. He gave her a blank look before turning his gaze to the book.

" _Let us go then you and I_ —," Riddle read with a raised eyebrow. "Muggle poetry?" he asked.

Hermione nodded self-consciously. Although Riddle had not asked it meanly, she was not sure if he did not mean to poke fun at her. "It's—it's for my research. On time."

"And this poetry helps?"

"Yes."

"How, exactly?"

"I'm afraid I cannot tell you," she shrugged. "Your declining of my offer to be a partner on the project by design excludes you from the privilege of knowing the details."

"Scared I would plagiarize?"

Hermione blushed at being so transparent despite having enunciated her thoughts with much sophistication, with words she had definitely picked up from a muggle law book she may have come across in her summer holidays.

"Yes," she said though her face felt hot with embarrassment. "It _is_ a concern in academia, isn't it?"

And Merlin knew that muggle-borns were not protected at all by this rotten academia. She was _not_ going to be taking any chances.

"Consider yourself safe, then," Riddle said returning her book, a slight smirk linger on his mouth. "I have no interest in the subject."

 _Of course, because you have not found what I have_ , Hermione thought snidely but she did not say so. She only nodded, satisfied. "Then it should not bother you that I don't share my findings with you."

"Yes," Riddle said curtly. Then gave her a suspicious look. "Are—are you _baiting_ me to agree to be your partner?"

 _What?_ "What?" Hermione sputtered in disbelief. Lord he had a high opinion of himself. "No! The offer remains withdrawn, I'm afraid," she announced haughtily. "You've missed your chance Riddle."

" _Withdrawn_?" He narrowed his eyes. "I _rejected_ your offer. And stop baiting me! I shall not rise to it."

"What bait?" Hermione cried. "I'm actually _happy_ that you 'rejected' my offer! Because my findings are so monumental, so amazing that you're going to regret it, Riddle!"

"Fine, if you want me to be on the damn project so bad, I guess I shall have a look. But I don't promis—,"

"Excuse me! I don't need you on the project. It is mine!" Hermione found herself a second away from banging the table with frustration. But she caught herself before she could for she remembered Ms Pince who would _not_ be pleased with barbaric behaviour in the library. "Don't make me laugh, Riddle! I am _not_ baiting you. I am not even _asking_ you to be on the project."

"I'm onto you Granger," Riddle said with narrowed eyes.

" _Onto_ me?" Hermione barked a laugh. "You have a very high opinion of yourself."

"Well—," Riddle began with a charming smile but was unable to complete for a small boy had come to their table, to inform Riddle that Professor Slughorn required him in his office for a moment. Riddle got up to leave, he made to as if collect his books but left them on the table untouched, much to Hermione's delight. She always wanted to see what Riddle read so intensely. "I'll be back shortly," he said before leaving.

Hermione was glad to have the alone time for she was curious as to what Riddle had been reading. Although Riddle had been doing his History assignment, there was a pile of queer looking books stacked next to him. Riddle would not permit her to take a look at them. "Do your own research, Ms Granger," he had said. And oh, did she really want to know what Perfect Prefect Riddle read to be so brilliant.

"Alternate Elf Histories," Hermione read from the cover of the book and reached out to have a proper look at it. Was this the book that Riddle said he was to bring her?"

As soon as Hermione had touched the book she could feel enchantments all over it. She frowned and moved to open the book and found the contents blank. The book was empty save white sheets of parchment.

"Homonium Revelio," she pointed her wand at it. It didn't work. The false cover remained and the insides were blank. Remembering from what she had studied of theory of magic, Hermione tried to trace the magical field of the object and see if there was a hole in the enchantment, or a loose thread. If there wasn't then she could force the magic to let out a loose thread to pick at it and pull it apart.

As she cast the spell, the magic surrounding the book began to reveal itself. Hermione lifted her wand higher to rotate the book, to look for any loose ends when one made itself apparent. Hermione caught hold of the thread with her magic and tugged at it. The book started revealing itself, she could see—the book was suddenly snatched from the table.

"Hey" Hermione cried out, annoyed at having been disrupted though she immediately recovered upon realization that it was _she_ who had been intruding.

"Inquisitive, are we?" Riddle asked, standing near the bookshelf, his eyes cold. The book was held clenched between his fingers in his left hand, while the other held his wand.

"I—I was surprised," Hermione began slowly. She did not want to anger Riddle. She enjoyed his friendship and she did not wish to ruin it. She was also very curious about the book. "I thought it was on elf histories."

"It isn't."

"So I have since discovered. What _is_ it about?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice light, nonchalant. But alas, it was not convincing enough for her eyes were lit with hunger, with the need to _know, know, know_ , and Riddle had seen it and wished to snuff it, for he said,

"I don't believe that concerns you, Granger."

Hermione's eyes dimmed at Riddle's response.

"I would appreciate it if you did not touch my belongings without my permission in the future," Riddle said coldly as he came to sit in his chair. Hermione glared at him, though she realized she was in the wrong at the moment. That only made her angrier. She was usually _never_ wrong. And she really was curious about what Riddle was hiding. Swallowing her pride, Hermione let out a, "I understand. And I apologize." The blush on her cheeks betrayed the embarrassment she felt at being caught red-handed.

Riddle only gave a curt nod before going back to finishing his essay.

Unbeknownst to Riddle Hermione had caught a glimpse of a signia, a coat of arms. It had been a book but not from not an ordinary one to be found in a library. It was from the collections of one of the libraries from the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. Hermione knew because she had requested several books from Pansy from the Parkinson library.

At the thought of Pansy, Hermione's eyes widened. She was almost going to be late! It was only five minutes to seven and Pansy hated waiting as much as Hermione herself did! "I have to go. See you around, Riddle," Hermione said, gathering her book bag and almost running out of the library ignoring Madam Pince's protests.

Could it be Blaise? Neville wondered idly as he waited in the Restricted Section of the Library. Outside, of course. No one came here at this time of the night. It was almost past curfew. He could feel his stomach churn uneasily. What if it was a prank? Someone making a fool out of him.

Could it be Blaise? He thought again, but decided on the negative. It wasn't likely. He was meeting Blaise at midnight wasn't he? Why would he—Maybe he was into theatrics—Maybe…Neville ran out of excuses. He considered leaving and stood up abruptly from where he had been sitting on the floor. He could always leave. There was no shame in leaving after all, he decided. It could be something dangerous too. With Grindelwald becoming more powerful by the day it could be anything, really!

"Longbottom," Neville heard a voice call him as he made to walk out of the Restricted Section. He immediately felt disappointment surge through him because he recognized the voice as not Blaise's.

As he looked up at figure approaching him, he felt his heart drop to his stomach and his sweat beads form on his forehead. It was a prank, it was definitely, definitely a prank. For it was none other than Draco Malfoy approaching him.


	4. Chapter 4

[T]he idea of heterosexuality is a modern invention, dating to the late nineteenth century…The transformation of the family from a producer to consumer unit resulted in a change in family members' relation to their bodies…In the late nineteenth century, the erotic became the raw material for a new consumer culture. Newspapers, books, plays and films touching on sex, "normal" and "abnormal," became available for a price. Late Victorian entrepreneurs of desire incited the proliferation of a new eroticism, a commoditized culture of pleasure…

By the 1880s, the rise of doctors as a professional group fostered the rise of a new medical model of Normal Love, replete with sexuality. The new Normal Woman and Man were endowed with a healthy libido… The creation of the new Normal Sexual had its counterpart in the invention of the late Victorian Sexual Pervert."

— _The Invention of Heterosexuality_ , Johnathan Katz

"I look at my adult friends and colleagues doing lesbian and gay work, and I feel that the survival of each one is a miracle." — Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, _Tendencies_

"If the ground of gender identity is the stylized repetition of acts through time, and not a seemingly seamless identity, then the possibilities of gender transformation are to be found in the arbitrary relation between such acts, in the possibility of a different sort of repeating, in the breaking or subversive repetition of that style." — Judith Butler, 'Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory'

 **Chapter 4**

"Malfoy," Neville said tersely.

"What are you doing here?" Neville felt his fingers grow cold. He wasn't sure if he would be able to even hold onto his wand at this rate. Neville looked around, surveying with a nervous glance, to see where Crabbe and Goyle were hiding. He couldn't see them. Were they to jump at him from a hidden corner? Neville only barely managed to hold back a quiver of fear.

"Longbottom, you came," Malfoy said and Neville, who had been scanning the area, had his attention snap back to the Slytherin boy standing in front of him. Malfoy's voice had freaked him out. It had not been harsh. Or mocking. It had been almost…tender, relieved. Neville visibly cringed at the thought.

"Yes...?" he said slowly, still suspicious. Malfoy wasn't saying anything, but his gaze did not hold the kind of mocking and hatred Neville was wont to see.

"I—I'm glad," Malfoy _smiled_ , taking a step towards him, "I wasn't sure if you were—if you were receiving my notes—,"

"Wait," Neville interrupted him, unable to see this side of Malfoy, or listen to him. Was Malfoy the person who sent him those…? Neville's eyes widened in surprise and horror. He had hoped…for what? For someone wonderful to come through? A prince? Ha! And look who turned up. The Slytherin Prince himself. Neville vowed to never find himself fantasizing about princes in the future. "Are you saying you're the one who sent me the—," he began, horrified and disbelieving when Malfoy cut him off in the middle saying, "Yes, of course. A bit slow, are you not Longbottom?" Malfoy drawled, smirking. Though it was not said cruelly or unkindly, Neville thought the sarcasm distasteful, considering the situation, consdering the history of abuse...

"Are you—do you mean to say that you—you fancy _me_?"

"Yes," Malfoy said, his pointed nose in the air, though Neville could see a glimpse of vulnerability.

"You—," Neville shook his head in disbelief, "you charmed those notes—those, those _poems_ — _you_ wrote that? _You_?"

"Yes," Malfoy said, looking irritated and impatient but what had he exactly expected? For Neville to believe it at first glance!? For Neville to not be as shocked and incredulous he was at the moment.

"Why? What? _How_?" Neville frowned at him, incredulous. "Malfoy, you hate—no, _detest_ me. You've mocked my existence—tortured me since we were in First Year—,"

"That is harsh!" Malfoy interjected, "I was just—I was foolish. And I didn't mean to—It was that—that _mudb—_ Granger who I found fault with. You—I didn't really mean to."

"'Didn't mean to'? _Didn't mean to?_ " Neville whispered, feeling his heart drop to his stomach. All of the pain, the humiliation he had been subjected to; the tears, hiding in bunk bed and crying, crying— _didn't mean to_? Neville's head snapped up to look at Malfoy, who was still speaking. He glared at the boy. How dare he? How dare he think that all of the humiliation—the torture—at his hands would be _forgotten_ , be _forgiven_? Did Malfoy think his confession of thoughtless, careless cruelty would buy him Neville's favour?

"I always wanted to tell you how I felt, but I never really had a chance. That Granger would always come in between. Protecting you and arguing with me, as if I was attacking you! It was a nuisance, really—,"

"No," Neville said softly but firmly, catching Malfoy's attention, forcing the latter to stop talking. "I don't—I don't want any part in this. I don't want you," Neville said mustering up as much disgust and anger he could in those words, "I've got to go," he said, unable to vocalize his feelings, vocalize his anger for fear of punching Malfoy, or worse, bursting into tears. But this not the time and occasion for either so he decided leaving would be the wisest choice.

Malfoy, on the other hand, looked devastated. He had a frown etched into his features and stepped forward, perhaps to stop him from leaving for his hand had stretched out towards Neville, but Neville flinched and pulled away, staring stubbornly at the ground as his face grew hot with the rising anger.

"Longbottom—did you not hear me? I—I'm sorry for things I did but I really like you and I thought—," Malfoy began.

"I don't care," Neville said softly. Hadn't it been only a minute ago when he had decided he would not speak with anger, not speak at the moment? But he couldn't stop himself, the words were suddenly spilling out of him, cutting their way through his mouth, making their way to the outside. And he couldn't stop them, he couldn't. So he didn't.

"I don't care how deep your feelings for me are, Malfoy. You've been cruel to me _and_ my friends," his quivering soft voice grew firm and loud. "Not only do I not reciprocate your—your _feelings_ for me in the slightest—I'm afraid any offer of friendship will—will have to be rejected too," Neville said feeling the words rolling off his tongue mechanically, alien words bouncing off. Had he read these words in a book? They seemed to be not his but they delivered his feelings effectively so he felt compelled to shamelessly borrow. "You've been cruel, Malfoy," Neville almost spat, finally directing the gaze he had trained on the floor to the boy standing in front of him. "You've been—cruel to me and my friends. I don't think I'm in the mood to accept your shite apologies either, at the moment."

"I—," Malfoy began, walking closer to him but Neville instinctively stepped away causing the former to also stop in shock and hurt. It was as if Malfoy had only just realized the instinctive response of repulsion his presence aroused in Neville. The latter shoved a hand hastily into his pockets and took out something—the notes.

"Don't send them anymore," he said as he threw them, littering the ground. He walked past Malfoy, willing himself not to run, who stood with a devastated expression of horror on his face, his eyes frozen on the chits.

As soon as Neville hit the corridor, he broke into a sprint. He needed to get away, just _get away_. His heart was racing and his mind was buzzing with all sorts of things. He felt furious but also exhilarated somehow. Exhilaratingly furious? Furiously exhilarated? Neville wasn't sure if such a thing existed in language but he felt it clearly. Did Draco Malfoy think himself so above everything and everyone that he could just swagger in, throw a cheap apology and Neville would quiver and consent! He didn't even—didn't even allow Neville the chance to digest the fact that he was homosexual! Neville cringed at the word. It felt awful to hear, somehow. So violent. But—Draco Malfoy liked men! So did Neville but he had not met anyone outside of himself who was gay. He would have been excited if it weren't Draco Malfoy. He barely bit back the sigh that threatened to escape him as he made his way to his common room. He suddenly felt himself being pushed into a corner by a strong force. Before Neville could huff in surprise or let out a scream of horror, he found the grinning form of Blaise looking down at him.

"Longbottom, on your way to me?"

Neville's eyes widened in surprise and his ears grew hot as he remembered that he was to meet Blaise tonight. He wondered what the time was and how late he was. But what was Blaise doing here? Did he—did he know about Malfoy? Were they not chums? Had they been in on this together?

"And what are you waiting here for? Are you in on this as well?" Neville cried, frustrated.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"As if you don't know!" Neville said pushing Blaise away from him. "What was the plan really? Both of you would get me and do—do what? Huh?"

"I am afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, Neville."

"Malfoy! Draco Malfoy!"

"Draco? What about him?" Blaise insisted with a frown, looking behind Neville even, to perhaps catch a glimpse of his friend—or co-conspirator? Neville scowled. Did the Slytherin really not know? Blaise really did look confused and Neville felt a bit guilty for making assumptions.

"He—He—never mind, then, I just ran into him…and he was...I thought…" Neville did not complete his sentence.

"What did Draco do?" Blaise asked, looking worried.

"Oh, the usual," Neville mumbled. Thankfully, he did not have to elaborate for Blaise had assumed it was the usual 'routine' or torture and abuse that Malfoy had inflicted. Blaise immediately shook his head vehemently, denying any partaking.

"No I had nothing to do with that—whatever happened and this—I would never—," Blaise broke off, looking pained. "I would never do that to you. Or to anyone."

Neville only nodded, a little unconvinced but without reason to protest, remained quiet. He did not wish to speak about Draco Malfoy. Did not wish to know if Blaise knew about him, and if he didn't, Neville did not wish to be the one to out him.

"Let's head to the Astronomy Tower. No-one should be there—," Blaise began.

"No!" Neville almost shouted in panic at the thought of running into Malfoy and quickly added, "I have a better place in mind."

Although Neville really did not. Well, there was this alcove alongside a huge archway overlooking the grounds they could sit at. It was at the end of the sixth floor corridor, and while Neville had never really broken curfew to linger in that dark corner, he might have just found a good enough reason to. Neville smirked to himself at the thought as he lead Blaise to the corridor.

"I didn't know you were into blokes," Blaise said, offering him a cigarette. Neville glanced at it nervously before shaking his head and saying, "I'm alright, thanks. And um, neither did I. Know about you, I mean."

Blaise only flashed him a grin as Neville followed him.

"Where are we going?" Blaise asked.

"You'll see," Neville smiled.

"I hope it's not the second floor bathroom."

Neville let out a snort. "No, it isn't," he assured the Slytherin.

"Good, because I'm absolutely bored of it, _and_ broom closets. I need to be delighted with something new."

"Well, I am not sure how exciting it'll prove, but it would be a change of scenery."

* * *

"Pansy," Hermione kissed her cheek, plucking the book from her hands as she kissed her girlfriend on the mouth and peppered her face with kisses till the other girl was reduced to giggles. "What are you reading?" Hermione asked. She had been waiting to meet Pansy all day long. It had been such an awful and terrible day, only the meeting with Pansy had kept her from going mad.

"Was looking for a cure for Buttonfrog bites," Pansy said, holding Hermione's face in her palms and kissing her again. Hermione couldn't help the sound of incredulity that escaped her mouth as she pulled away and sat beside her girlfriend. "Who got bit by frogs?" she asked, amused.

"Draco," Pansy muttered, her fingers hurriedly scanning the pages of the book in her lap before she shut it abruptly, her eyes now wide and horrified. "Hermione, are you—are you alright? I heard what Draco said to you in Herbology today," she began.

"Oh," Hermione said, feeling her high of happiness suddenly dim and her chest tighten with pain. She had completely forgotten about it. She felt awful. The feeling of resentment and anger clouding her emotions.

"Oh Hermione, I'm so sorry," Pansy was still saying apologetically which made the other girl's fury only increase. Why must Pansy apologize for that—that twat!? Why must she feel so responsible for him? "Draco is horrible. I'll have a word with him," she heard Pansy say resolutely. Did Pansy think that would make her feel better? The latter scoffed in contempt.

"Of course you will," she muttered, annoyed. "But it's just not _Draco_ … it's the whole lot of purebloods who have taken up arms against the club. Did—did you know that apparently someone sent a notice to Dumbledore that this club was _discriminatory_? I mean, what rubbish is that!? Of course, thank Godric that Dumbledore did not agree—,"

"—of course, Dumbledore would never find fault with Gryffindors….," Pansy mumbled but Hermione ignored her jab although she did concede to the fact that Dumbledore often favoured Gryffindors, but this was not such a case, and more importantly, she was not done with her rant.

"—and then they're saying they're going start a Pureblood club where they dis muggleborns and all things muggle! Which is completely futile because such a club already exists in creation and that is the wizarding world!" Hermione inhaled sharply, her face hot with all the anger that she had been holding inside.

"You know," Pansy began, and there was something very cautious and careful in her tone, which made Hermione raise an eyebrow, "I think this Mug-Club is great and everything but I also think it is only deepening the rift between blood statuses."

"There _are_ differences!" Hermione protested. "What is the point of pretending otherwise? And why is everybody so _threatened_ by us?" Hermione clenched her palms into fists, angry. She did not expect _Pansy_ to be unsympathetic.

"Threatened is a correct word," Pansy said emphatically. "The purebloods are worried that all the muggleborns and half-bloods may mobilize together in this club and get _ideas—_ ,"

" _Ideas_?" Hermione repeated, unamused. "Ideas which would…?" she prompted a very hesitant Pansy to complete her sentence.

"Ideas of revolution," Pansy said, finally giving in.

"Ideas of _equality_ , you mean."

"You already _are_ equal, Hermione. There is _no_ need for a battle," Pansy pressed Hermione hands.

"A _battle_?" Hermione scoffed snatching her hands away from Pansy's hold and rolling her eyes in disbelief. "Who said anything about a battle? We're just getting together to exchange our ideas—our experiences of the wizarding world and the muggle world and hoping to find a middle way—"

"Yes, but it's exclusive, isn't it?"

"Yes, of course it is! It's only for Half-Bloods and Muggle-borns. Why is that such a problem? It's _our_ club. For _us_. And we're 'equal' you say? Where? _How_ are we equal? Statistics show a bias in the way interviews for jobs are conducted. The _ministry_ is especially guilty of this charge, with more than 90% of its workers being from pureblood or half-blood families. In the private sector, we see 70% of businesses owned and operated by pureblood and/or half-blood. I haven't even delved into what the statistics say about _gender_ yet," Hermione exclaimed, exasperated.

"And you know all about statistics," Pansy muttered. Before Hermione could retort however, Pansy quickly added, "I think—I think it has made the purebloods uncomfortable—nervous, even. They consider it as a discrimination."

"Discrimination?" Hermione shouted, exasperated. "Of course they do! Incorrigible. They're born with _all_ the privileges in the world. They treat us like shite and we cannot even discuss our experiences— _our_ histories outside of Pureblood purview."

"I-I know, it's unreasonable and childish—," Pansy began but was cut off by the glare Hermione sent her way.

"Unreasonable? Childish?" Hermione scoffed. "You don't get it," Hermione shook her head. "Despite everything—you're one of them, aren't you? You just don't get it." Hermione began gathering her things to leave.

"Her—," Pansy began in protest but stopped when Hermione shot her a look of intense… disgust and disbelief as she made to leave. Pansy flinched and looked away, her eyes burning with anger. Hermione was always so intense, it was frightening, always so _right_ in her anger that Pansy could not even say anything. Could not tell her how it made her feel. _I'm sorry_ I don't understand she wanted to say, _but you can't be angry with me, not like this_.

She had wanted to tell Hermione so much, wanted to talk about so much things. She wanted to tell her of all this pain she had stuffed inside her, brimming up, up, up. She felt at times almost choked with grief. And of this love and happiness she had inside her for Hermione. How everything seemed better when Hermione was there, talking, touching, laughing, or just _being_. But she couldn't.

They were always fighting nowadays, it felt. About this or that. About things irrelevant. Or maybe not. She didn't understand. Okay, she didn't. But couldn't Hermione tell her what was wrong? What was such a secret that Pansy must discover it herself? Did she not see how tired Pansy was?

Pansy lay back against the cushions, something heavy pressing against her heart. She felt herself being compressed and contained into something small. She felt her body dip, dip into the cushions, she felt she would be swallowed up whole by the furniture in a minute. But she couldn't be bothered to fight back.

Because Hermione would always run away fighting, Pansy was unable to tell her tings—no she didn't, stop projecting! Pansy said, annoyed with herself. Sometimes Pansy would hold back just to cherish the moments of peace and unhappiness, unstained by her grief. It was all so beautiful. She pained to tell Hermione but what if that was all Hermione could see when she saw her? What if it was not something she had wanted to learn of her?

As her eyes fluttered close from exhaustion, she imagined a Hermione she was not afraid of. Was that what it was? She was afraid of Hermione. She recalled the look of disgust, the snatching of her arm back—she wondered if Hermione even noticed these things. Pansy felt her stomach twist in pain at the thought, at the thoughts which came unbidden.

 _Hermione did you know_? She began in her mindscape, looking at an imaginary Hermione. This Hermione was attentive and soft. _I have always wondered at how you talk so delightfully of your parents—of your childhood_.

Hermione would frown, and ask what Pansy meant. Pansy imagined herself sighing dramatically—if she was grieving and damaged, she would wear her grief with style she had decided—and look up from beneath her eyelashes (though they were short, they were long in this fantasy), and say,

 _I,_ Pansy thought she would say, _I_ — _mine was_ —but the words did not come. Say what? Say what? Her brows furrowed in confusion. Of the grief Pansy, of the grief! Talk about the things that happened. The things—the—the—NO. Pansy found she could not. She could not speak. There were no words to describe the horror. She could not go there. Never. Her eyes opened, terrified. She realized she would never find the words, they would always leave her, and she would never go after them. It was too real. Saying it would be like it was happening again and no, Pansy did not wish for it to happen again—or ever. She could not. She could not.

Without the words to shoot her into stardom as the protagonist of this burlesque of Tragedy, Pansy found herself without the affection of her imaginary Hermione, who was already fading away now, along with the fast disappearing fake lashes, black lace hat (was she wearing that? Or had she just conjured it again?), all of the the fashionable garb of grief—everything disappearing. Pansy was only left with her ugly sadness, with her ugly self, all alone, waiting, a sense of death washing over her as she lay there, a wayward tear flowing down her cheek.

* * *

Hermione felt her face hot with anger.

She could not believe that Pansy could be so insensitive—so privileged to be so stupid! The actions of those Purebloods were not "childish", they were despicable. They were evil! They were what everything was currently wrong with the Wizarding World!

As she stomped down the corridor, huffing and puffing with anger, she had not seen a figure slither behind her, borrowing shape from the shadows. So when she heard her name being called out, she could not help but let out a gasp of horror. "Hermione," the voice said from right behind her, causing Hermione to stop with a gasp. She turned around to find the amused face of Riddle staring back at her.

"Breaking curfew again? Almost makes me feel _obliged_ to find out what mischief you have been up to," Riddle said. Hermione let out a huff of annoyance. She had really been afraid of having been caught by a prefect—of unsuspicious repute—or a professor. Seeing the smug face of Riddle was annoying but proved a better picture nonetheless.

"And what are _you_ breaking curfew for? A troll to shave for its hair?" Hermione bit out as she resumed walking. "Almost makes me feel obliged to find out what mischief _you_ are cooking."

"You wish, Granger. Find your own—,"

"You called me Hermione," Hermione said, abruptly stopping to frown at him.

"No I did not. I called you Granger."

"No, not now. When you first called out to me."

"Oh." Riddle looked at her blankly.

"Yes." Hermione resumed walking. "So can I too?"

"Can what?"

"Call you Tom."

"If you wish to," he said flippantly.

"I don't," Hermione said, bristled at his comment. _If you wish to_. Was that an honour he was bestowing? Couldn't _he_ ask her to call him by his first name? He hadn't even asked her before calling her by hers! "Riddle it is, then, I suppose."

She heard Riddle chuckle from beside her. "What's the cause of your foul temper?"

"I don't know what you mean," Hermione said, tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for the stairs to change direction and come to them, ignoring the insistent pain in her heart from the argument she had with Pansy. She couldn't wait to be ensconced in the safety of her bed. She just had to wait for another minute and a half, she told herself, and then Riddle would be forced to continue his path down to the dungeons, and Hermione would have to take a left when the stairs would stop off at the second floor.

"Did someone break your heart?" Riddle laughed. Hermione thought it especially cruel for the truth that rung in the words. She glared at him hatefully. The stair shifted and came to them.

"You're loathsome," Hermione said boarding the stairs and walking down, as quickly as she could. Riddle followed without delay. "Why are you in a good mood?"

Riddle just hummed in a satisfied manner without answer. When the stair landed at her floor, Hermione made to leave. "Good night, Hermione," Riddle called out. Hermione made a face at him.

" _Granger_ ," she corrected. "And good night to you."

"Oh, I am not going to tuck in just yet."

"Where are you headed?" Hermione asked suspiciously eyeing Riddle.

"Forbidden Forest. Care to accompany me?" A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth infuriating Hermione. Did he really think she would go _anywhere_ with him after the last time?

Hermione was about to say no when she bit her lip. "What are you going to look for tonight?"

Riddle smiled. "Only one way to find out."

* * *

"Draco Malfoy, is that you? Are—are you alright there?"

"Who is it?" he hissed, hurrying to his feet and fumbling for his wand. Ginny rolled her eyes as she stepped into the light to show herself.

"What—Weasley," Malfoy murmured confused, his eyes softening upon recognition for a second before hardening and a wand aiming at Ginny. Ginny raised her wand in defence too. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Ginny asked, nervously glancing at his wand.

"Answer me," he growled. Ginny stiffened at his petulant tone. She scowled and refused to answer him. Who did he think he was? Her scowl wavered when she saw his cheeks glistening. Was that..? "Were you crying?" she asked, feeling perplexed. She had no idea Draco Malfoy could be so human as to cry.

"No," Malfoy ground out angrily.

"Merlin's beard, you were, aren't you? Never thought I'd live to see the day. Twice." Ginny snorted as she moved towards him.

Malfoy winced visibly at her comment. "Shut your mouth, you—,"

"But why are you crying?" Ginny asked, cutting him off effectively. "Did daddy scold you for losing to a muggleborn? Or are you suffering from a broken heart?"

Malfoy only gave her a cold look prompting a bark of laughter from Ginny. "Broken heart it is," Ginny murmured decidedly.

"And what are _you_ doing here?"

"That's none of your business now, is it?" Ginny said in a clipped tone as she made to go inside the forest. She was stopped by the stunned voice of Malfoy.

"Oi!" He called out. "You going in?"

"Obviously." Ginny said over her shoulder. "I'm not going to stay out there and get caught by a patrolling prefect like _someone._ "

Malfoy visibly bristled at Ginny's comment. "I'm not going in there with you," he bit out. "That's worse than getting detention."

"Some might disagree," Ginny said with a chuckle at the thought of Hermione. "Nevertheless, enjoy your detention, Malfoy."

"And what do _you_ intend to do?" he demanded.

"None of your business, now, is it?"

"This is insane," Hermione said. "Absolutely barking mad."

"You know, nobody _asked_ you to come," Riddle said giving her an exasperated look. "In fact, if it so pleases you, do leave."

"Obviously, I can't do that," she huffed in disbelief. Did Riddle really expect her to just up and away? She _needed_ to know what he was doing in the forest, what he was brewing, even though she felt exceedingly unwell after the fight she had with Pansy. Why couldn't Pansy ever _understand_ what Hermione meant? Her eyes moved to Riddle who was walking ahead of her. Would he? She pursed her lips, he'd probably go off another fascist racist rant, Hermione was convinced. At least Pansy wasn't like that…kind of. She shook her heads to dispel the thoughts of Pansy. She needed to focus her energies on Riddle and this late night escapade she had again decided to participate in.

She had been exceedingly curious about Riddle's experiments, of which she had learnt nothing so far, for Riddle was so tight-lipped about it. She had hoped that following Riddle would allow her to guess at the potion he was brewing by learning of the ingredients he was prowling about at night for. She was worried it would too brilliant, _he_ would be too brilliant at whatever he was doing, enough to receive international accolades.

The last Wizard of Potions Award had been handed out more than two decades ago and she did not want _Riddle_ of all people to be the first one to receive it. Not to mention it would also mean he would be the youngest person to win it, breaking a record. Hermione's anxieties about a world in which Riddle would always be one step ahead of her, breaking records and winning prizes had forced her to get at the bottom of the mischief Riddle was up to.

"Hermione, if you must day dream, do it in day time, please. I fear your tardiness is going to get you caught."

Hermione scowled at the slight but followed hurriedly. "If I go down Riddle, I'm taking with you. And stop calling me Hermione." _Especially when you were so unpleasant about me calling me by your first name_ , Hermione thought bitterly.

"I don't wish to. Isn't that what friends do?"

"Since you don't have any of your own, I'm not surprised at your confusion."

"Rubbish, I have plenty of friends," Riddle said with a hint of amusement in his voice, and continued, "Come now, if we are not friends why would you follow me into the forest?"

"For knowledge. We're...," Hermione searched for the right word, and when she found it, she forced herself to spit it out though it tasted bitter on her tongue, "peers."

"We're hardly of the same age."

" _Intellectually_ ," Hermione said, widening her eyes in annoyance.

"Are you sure about that?" Riddle said, stopping at the border of the Forbidden Forest, where the huge expanse of trees with their shadows darkened his face. Hermione, who had been trailing behind him, was bathed in moonlight. She smirked.

" _Oh I am pretty sure, rest assured_ ," Hermione said—no, hissed as she passed by a dumbstruck Riddle frozen in his place.

"Daydreaming Riddle?" Hermione asked. "Wouldn't want to be caught now, do we? Better hurry up," Hermione said as she entered the Forbidden Forest more confident than the last time. She wondered upon the events that took place the last time she had visited—been blackmailed to visit—by Riddle. ' _Friends_ ' _he had dared to call them,_ Hermione scoffed internally, _ridiculous_.

"Good progress on Parseltongue," Riddle said, catching up to her.

"Thank you," Hermione said in a clipped voice. "Now," she said turning to him. "What are we looking for?"

"A Bubble sprout," Riddle flashed a charming smile—or what he thought to be charming. To Hermione it looked painfully forced. Or was it the shadows in the forest that were revealing such strange artificial fixtures in Riddle's face that had previously escaped her scrutiny. The Forbidden Forest had more magic than Hermione had originally realized, she mused.

"And am I to be the sacrifice? Again?" Hermione asked, drily.

"No, you're safe," Riddle said distractedly, checking their surroundings, before looking at her and adding, "For now."

"As I expect you would be already aware, Bubble Sprouts are found on the top of—,"

"—on the tops of fir trees unique to Wizarding Britain and can be found by locating a mermaid's brook." Hermione wracked her brains for possible uses of Bubble Sprouts but they were only used as an expensive toys for children, and that too, rather rarely for they were so delicate and warranted so much care and effort that they were highly unpopular in the market. What possible use would Riddle be using them for?

"A perfect textbook definition. Always good with definitions, aren't you Hermione?"

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, angry at the condescending tone. "Do you mean I am not—,"

"Name three uses of the Bubble Sprouts not mentioned in the books."

Hermione fumbled, her anger giving way to confusion and frustration before yielding to more anger. "But—but that's not fair!" Hermione argued. "I have never had any use for—,"

"Alright, what about bat wings?" Riddle asked, his brow twitching in impatience. "They're a common potion ingredient. Three uses not mentioned in any of the textbooks."

"I don't know," Hermione ground out, annoyed. What exactly was his point? That she didn't know enough? That she was a bookworm who knew nothing outside of books?

"And that's because you're limiting yourself," Riddle said exasperated, as if speaking to a child. Hermione bristled at the condescension.

"And you are the enlightened one!? Am I to follow you into the light—," Hermione began with a scoff of disbelief when she was sharply cut off by Riddle,

"No, I am far from the light, Hermione. I am looking for the shadows, and that is where you must look to. You cannot be bound by books, by words," Riddle said stepping closer, a sort of delirious desperation to his voice, "by _wands_."

Hermione moved away, disconcerted by his demeanour. He sounded crazy. Look to the shadows? What on earth did he mean by that? And to discard words and wands—did he mean non-verbal and wandless magic? When Hermione posited her question, Riddle made an affirmative noise as he turned from her to continue his walk into the heart of the forest. Hermione following him behind closely.

"I _am_ trying," She said defensively, crossing her arms across her chest, "I don't need _you_ to tell me—,"

"Yes, I do not. And neither does anyone else. You should be able to formulate your own theories, Hermione," Riddle said again stopping abruptly to face her.

"You should be able to—to," Riddle spread his arm out, and Hermione wondered if he expected her to accept it but her thoughts scattered when a flower burst out—a glowing lily—from his palm, "create," Riddle murmured and Hermione had forgotten the entire point of his argument—his sentence—whatever Riddle had been saying, for the lily flower was beautiful and shining and it was drooping, bent from where it hung sprouting out of Riddle's palm, and Hermione was entranced, she found herself drawn deeper and deeper to its beauty. It grew, swelling into a larger flower, a stem, a leaf, a—prick of a thorn, was it? Hermione wasn't sure if lilies had thorns but this one sure did.

She watched in wonder as the lily grew out of the skin of his palm and became whole, became alive. Without caution or care, Hermione found her hand extending towards the flower, to touch it, to feel, to _taste_ —The tips of her fingers were just shy of the mouth of the lily, just another centimetre—but it disappeared into dust. Incinerated. And now absorbed back into Riddle's palm. Hermione's face was coated with shock, a gasp of horror escaping her mouth.

"And destroy," Riddle said, his mouth twisting into a cruel smirk.

"You're kind of sick, do you know?" Hermione cried, withdrawing her hand and clenching it at her side. " _Completely_ off your rocker, I am afraid."

Riddle made no response except for a smirk.

* * *

"Why are you following me?" Ginny asked.

"I am not _following_ you. I am merely promenading—,"

" _Promenading_ ," Ginny huffed. "You sound like a Muggle gentleman from the 19th Century, Draco Malfoy," Ginny snickered at her private joke, remembering the novels she had borrowed from Hermione over the years. "Oh, the horror your father would feel upon discovering it."

"Shut up you filthy blood—,"

Ginny had her wand out and pressed against his neck. "Complete it, I dare you," she flashed her teeth. She could feel the chilly midnight hair pinch her nose, her skin felt alive. "They wouldn't even find your body. Trampled on by trolls and eaten by mugworms for weeks before anyone even _thinks_ of checking the Forbidden Forest. Would you like that, Malfoy?"

Malfoy whimpered, his breath coming out in soft white puffs from the cold air. "I did not think so," Ginny said calmly withdrawing. "You are allowed to look, but you may not touch anything here, unless you want to risk certain death" she said as she turned away from him to continue walking into the heart of the forest. She had decided to go to the lake she had been to with Hermione last month but with Malfoy trailing after her, she did not wish to bring anyone else into her sacred place.

"Do you come here often…?" Malfoy asked after a long and uncomfortable silence. Was he trying to...?

"Are you seriously trying to make conversation with me right now?" Ginny said, giving him an incredulous look. He only shrugged.

"Well, do you?"

"Why were you crying?" Ginny asked instead, as they continued walking. Ginny spotted the tree she had been looking for and her pace increased.

"I told you, I _wasn't_ ," She faintly heard Malfoy ground out.

"We've reached. Take your pick," Ginny said, ignoring his lie. She wasn't that bothered to find out, anyway.

"From among these pieces of crap—,"

"I'll take the red one."

"What? No! Let me have a look," Malfoy said immediately snatching the broom Ginny had picked and examining it. "I'll be taking this. You can take the other piece of crap."

* * *

Perhaps Riddle was of a mad genius kind.

Hermione mused to herself. He was dangerous for he was never predictable. And the forest seemed to do something to him, or perhaps to her. She was able to see him clearer, without the masks he adorned inside the school. In the forest he was almost… feral? Or was it just plain rude? Hermione wasn't sure.

"We're here," Riddle said. Hermione saw him looking up, his eyes trying to reach the tops of the trees.

"How are you planning to get them?"

"Not in your textbooks?" Riddle asked, innocently.

Hermione gave him a mean look but otherwise chose to ignore his comment. She watched curiously as Riddle stepped forward and started drawing runes on the ground. He wrote them at a speed which stunned Hermione. She wondered if they were from a book or something he created himself. She could hardly translate them in the dark of the night, and with so many distractions.

"I need you to pluck the Bubble sprouts."

"What?" Hermione asked, suddenly tensing. She spared a nervous glance at the Bubble Sprouts hovering atop of the trees. Once plucked from their roots, they are so entirely delicate that it is impossible for a person to move them before it burst. "But if I try to move—,"

"You don't need to. You just need to detach them from the root tree and make them hover, I shall do the rest."

Uncertain but determined, Hermione brandished her wand and cast a mild severing charm on one of the Bubble Sprouts. "Now what?" She asked, tense. She held it above the tree, it was light and hardly any effort but it was so delicate, she was afraid it might burst.

Riddle waved his wand, causing the water from the brook to rise and create a protective cover of vacuum. This process was repeated three more times and Hermione saw Riddle draw runes on the ground causing the previously ginormous bubble sprouts to shrink along with the ring of water.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, having never seen runes such as the ones he drew.

"You wish to learn?"

"Yes."

"And what do I get in return?" Hermione noticed the way Riddle's eyes gleamed, the way he licked his lips. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment, anticipating it.

"Did you plan this?" Hermione asked, suspicious. "How were you planning on doing this all on your own in the first place?"

"Perhaps you can come to watch, next time."

 _Next time_ , Hermione scoffed. How many times _did_ he visit the Forbidden Forest? "Good night, Riddle," Hermione said as they entered the Castle. She wondered how he was going to sneak it into his common room but was too tired to inquire. Perhaps next time, she thought wryly.

* * *

"At least it's not a broom closet," Blaise said eyeing the alcove sceptically. Neville cracked a smile and gestured for Blaise to take a seat on the window-seat.

"When did you know?" Neville asked, curiously. He had never spoken like this to anyone, never asked anyone this for he had never known anyone outside of him being gay.

"Know what?" Blaise asked, coyly as he made himself comfortable on the stone seat. Neville gave him a pointed look. He had chosen to stand opposite Blaise, instead of sitting. He felt too nervous, too excited and jittery to sit. "Well," Blaise began leisurely, "In my second year. You?"

"I always knew," Neville said. His eyes searched the moonlight grounds, the alcove was looking onto. Everything was quiet in the dead of the night save for the hoots of owls. He wondered if someone was awake like him. Like _them_? Secret rendezvous of gays taking place all over the castle. Neville felt comforted at the hope that perhaps there were. He would never know if there weren't, he told himself. "I always knew," he repeated.

"You're lucky." Blaise said. Before Neville could enquire the meaning of his comment, Blaise quickly added, "I thought you would take me to the greenhouse, at first."

"Ah," Neville said, "perhaps next time." He did not wish to reveal to Blaise that the greenhouse was his sacred place and he was not ready to have company there just yet. But Blaise seemed to have caught onto his feelings for he only smiled charmingly.

"So there's going to be a next time, then, eh?"

Neville could feel his cheeks heat up at the look Blaise was giving. It was positively indecent, he decided. "Yes," he said firmly. "I never thought we would be…friends in any capacity."

"Is this what it is, then? A friendship?" Blaise asked, raising his eyebrows, feigning nonchalance.

"A start of one, I hope," Neville said. "I thought Slytherins were spiteful. I wish we had met before."

Blaise did not say anything, he was just staring at Neville, making the latter uncomfortable.

"I saw you once," Blaise began, his gaze searching for something in Neville's face, "in the greenhouse." Neville wondered what he was looking for and stared back, resolutely, curiously. "You were just sitting planting some fuchsia fried kidneys. And I knew I wanted to know you. I knew," he repeated. Neville frowned. What was the meaning of it? Neville's apparent confusion seemed to disappoint Blaise and seemed to not be the thing Blaise had been looking for, for Blaise suddenly looked away, a frown on his face.

When Neville asked what the purpose of his tale was, Blaise simply said, "I mean, House rivalries or not, I would have never spoken to you, Longbottom. We would have continued to be strangers, or awkward acquaintances. Till I saw you in the greenhouse that day. Until then, and if not for that time, I am not sure…if we would have ever crossed paths."

Neville did not respond, he did not know what to say. He glanced outside the window, his eyes searched the sky. "I hope it rains tomorrow," he said, his eyes caught at the sign of a plump cloud, though it was only one of its kind.

"Why?" Blaise asked, absently.

"So the Friend Fuchsias can bloom," Neville grinned. The disappointment that Blaise had experienced earlier seemed to seep out, and a certain joy and lightness took over his face as he grinned at Neville's comment.

"Is that Granger? And is that…Riddle?" Blaise suddenly shot up from where he had been seated. He immediately tugged at Neville's arms, pulling him into the deeper shadows, away from the moonlight. Neville allowed himself to be hidden for he also did not wish to be discovered by Hermione or by Riddle.

"What are they doing together?" Blaise asked. There was a hint of panic and disbelief in his voice.

"Don't worry. They're just study partners. They're working on a project. They'll be gone soon," Neville said quickly, wishing to quell the rising panic he detected in the Slytherin's face.

"Project? What project?" Blaise asked, frowning, his face etched with worry. Neville couldn't understand the other boy's nervousness, or anxiety so he responded with as much honesty as he could, "Yeah, Riddle's helping Hermione with learning Parseltongue. Why? Is something wrong?"

Blaise hesitated in responding. "You should know that my friends are very important to me," Neville said, remembering Malfoy suddenly and almost flinching. Blaise seemed to have misunderstood his demeanor for a warning for he immediately sought to rectify the situation. "I—If I were Granger's friend then, I would ask her to be careful," he said slowly, measuring each word.

"Meaning what?" Neville asked, still confused. "Are you saying that Riddle's—,"

"No!" Blaise immediately protested, "I'm not saying anything. I'm just saying—," Blaise broke off, looking tortured, unable and unwilling to complete his sentence.

"Just tell me!" Neville said, exasperated. He did not wish to have his friends be in danger. And if someone knew something, Neville did not appreciate them holding back information.

"I can't," Blaise said, frowning deeply. "I wouldn't advise being careful and putting distance," he finally said. Neville nodded, slowly. He wished to insist Blaise be clearer, but there seemed to be a distance between them suddenly; a sudden and abrupt coldness.

"Perhaps we should go," Blaise said. Neville nodded, feeling his eyes droop heavily with exhaustion. The late hour of the night was really seeping its way into his body, even his skin felt heavy. As he turned to leave he felt a tug at his hand, and felt himself being pulled back.

"But a kiss first," he heard the Slytherin say as he grinned at him. Neville let out a snort as he reached forward to plant a small kiss on the other boy's mouth.

"Good night, Zabini," he managed to say with as much nonchalance and panache as he could, before he felt his insides turn into mush and tingle with excitement and joy. He was glad for the darkness which acted as a cover preventing his emotions from being embarrassingly apparent.

"Good night," he heard a whisper from behind, long lost to the darkness of the night as he made his way to his dorm.

"Neville?" He heard a voice—Not Blaise's—pull him short. "Is that you?" He felt a wave of cold terror wash over him. Had this person seen? No, it was too dark anyway. As the person stepped forward, Neville saw Seamus with Rahul and Greg behind him.

"Hey Seamus," Neville said, keeping his voice light. "Hey lads. What are you all doing awake so late in the night?"

"That's what we'd like to ask you," Rahul said with a sneer.

"We saw something Neville," Seamus said, his face was concerned, but it was soon setting hard with the conviction of hatred, Neville could clearly see it. "And we'd like to confirm if what we saw was the truth or not."

* * *

"Neville," Hermione heard someone call as she slowly made her way to the dorm. She hadn't realized she wasn't alone in the corridor at this time of night. Asshe neared the group of people, she could make out the form of Seamus. "Didn't know you were a faggot," the boy sneered. Hermione stared in shock and before she knew it her wand was out.

" _Say that again_ ," she hissed, her wand pointed at his face.

"Blimey, Hermione!" Seamus said, cussing under his breath. "What's got your wand in a knot?"

"I said, say it again if you dare!"

The surprise in Seamus's eyes faded to make way to hatred. Hermione saw his hand twitch near the pocket of his robes and immediately accio'ed his wand.

"For Merlin's sake, calm down," Seamus said, scowling, "we saw our dear Neville coming from a late night rendezvous with a boy. Do you not find that strange? Don't you think Neville's acting a bit queer—,"

"I will cut you up, Finnegan," she spat.

"You can't be possibly saying that this is _normal_ ," Seamus sputtered, alarmed at being wandless and more importantly, at the receiving end of wrath of Hermione Granger. She could bollocks his balls off in a second, he knew.

Hermione's face hardened. "I don't need lessons from you to know what is normal and not. If I catch you bullying Neville again, I will—,"

"Care too much for a classmate, don't you? Or could it be that _you_ are one too?" Seamus asked, a cruel smirk twisting his face.

Hermione's face froze in panic as she tried not to let her emotions show. She was about to ask Seamus to shut his filthy mouth but instead found herself in a dilemma. All of the things she had been thinking earlier, about being hidden, concealed, buried. This was her time to show she was not afraid. She was not, truly. She was Hermione Granger. She had friends who loved and supported her and she knew things like this didn't matter. But then why couldn't she say it? Was she … ashamed? Was she unsure? No she wasn't. But the thing was that she was not one thing. She was many. And she didn't know how to tell people that.

The silence stretched on and the triumphant smirk on Seamus' face twisted into surprise. "Are you _really_ —,"

"Shut up, Finnegan," Neville muttered, pulling Hermione away effectively cutting off his rant. Hermione turned to throw Seamus' wand at him.

"Don't ever let me catch you spewing nonsense!" Hermione shouted, her voice had wavered. She wondered if they had caught on, if they _knew_ she was—she was— what was she again? She followed Neville to outside the library where they sat in an alcove, overlooking the grounds.

"I see your Parseltongue lessons have been faring well," Neville suddenly said breaking the silence they were ensconced in.

"Huh? Yes. They've been decent…," Hermione said awkwardly, wondering if Neville had brought it up to change the topic.

"Been practising with Riddle?" Neville asked with a nervous giggle causing Hermione to shoot a nervous smile back at him. Was something the matter?

"I—," Neville began but stopped abruptly. Hermione waited till her friend found the right words. She knew he knew what he wanted to say it but it was just _how_ he wanted to say it that he was struggling with. "I can't tell you how I know this," he began, " _but_ ," he added hastily, "I—I am not sure Riddle is such a stellar bloke. I think there's a—a debate of some sort going on? I am not sure what exactly but I have been advised to warn you to stay away—,"

Hermione who had been listening patiently, if not a bit shocked, to Neville, started at the word 'warn'. "Warn? Did someone _threaten_ you? Or me? Or both of us?" She asked sharply.

"What? No!" Neville cried, shaking his head furiously. "That's mad! No, no not at all. The opposite really. It was more eh—more of erm, I think a _suggestion_. If that's a word that does justice to it. I think it's fine to use that word for now…"

Hermione bit her lip impatiently. "But the bottom line is, I am not sure if Riddle is really a person to maintain such close acquaintance with. He's—he's odd, I'm told."

"Right," Hermione said unconvinced. "Alright, I'll—I'll be careful."

"That's—that's all I ask."

"The demonstration back there though—that took me by surprise," Neville chuckled.

"What do you mean?"

"Back there, when you hissed in parseltongue. You—you didn't realize?"

"No," Hermione said, comprehension dawning on her. "Is that why Seamus looked like he had seen a ghost?" she let out a chuckle.

"Yeah," Neville smiled sadly.

"Neville," Hermione said quietly, "I like girls."

"Oh?" Neville said, surprise flickering his eyes.

"But I also like boys, I think."

"Oh." His eyes widened before he nodded thoughtfully. "Doesn't everyone, though?" he asked, earning a chuckle from Hermione.

"I should hope so," she muttered.

"Thank you for standing up for me, Hermione," Neville said, staring outside the window before slowly shifting his gaze to her. He was smiling softly.

"It's no problem, Neville," Hermione smiled back before moving to look outside the window too.

The grounds were a dark shade of moonlight green. In the distance sat Hagrid's small hut, smoke rising up from the chimney, peels of it dissolving into the air, and some forming their own clouds. They did not see a blond-haired boy and a red-haired girl swooping in the skies, among the clouds of smoke.


	5. Chapter 5

Ginny could not believe it.

She could believe that her life had become a series of lies stitched together, that she was lying to her mum, to her dad, to her therapist, to her brother, to her friends, to—no, not to herself, definitely not to herself. But she could not believe that of all of her lies, in all of her lies, something as ridiculous as Draco Malfoy had gotten embroiled. Draco. Malfoy. What on earth was wrong with her and how did it even happen? It was abnormal. She should talk to Healer Mervin about it. Hah! Ginny thought. Fat chance she would reveal anything personal to that crazy judgmental cow.

She did not know what to make of her … whatever it was, with Malfoy. They were NOT friends. They would just do things friends would do. Play quidditch together and talk. Or worse, just sit in silence like friends did. It was bizarre. Jarring. Ginny would sometimes be itching to exchange a smirk or a look of exasperation with Malfoy when someone did something foolish in the Hall or corridors. She would have to force herself to restrict herself to giving him a surreptitious nod of acknowledgement when they passed each other in the hall. She felt him do the same.

This unprecedented camaraderie that had sprung up between them was dangerous, it would have consequences, Ginny feared. Consequences that were already beginning to show. So, when she snapped at hearing one of her brothers say something nasty about Malfoy, she felt their shock resonate in her own body. She had been eating her breakfast peacefully in the Great Hall, by which she meant that she was thoroughly enjoying the impressions of Percy that Ron was doing, blissfully ignorant to the fact that George and Fred were sticking their latest invention in his hair. Luna, Harry and Hermione who sat with beside her were also taking delight in the prank. Hermione looking awfully guilty, though, for although she wanted to tell Ron that his hair was being ruined, she did not wish to ruin the fun.

"He's so bloody nasty about everything," Ron had grumbled, though looking terribly satisfied with having made everyone at the table laugh. Up until this moment, everything was light and correct, as Ginny remembered it to be. But it was when, at this moment that Fred had said, "As nasty as Malfoy's mum's face" to which Ginny had responded instantly with, "Not as nasty as _your_ mum's face."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized a) she had cursed her own mother b) in front of her own siblings and friends c) to defend Malfoy's _mother_ d) in front of her own siblings e) she had cursed her OWN MOTHER TO DEFEND SLYTHERIN, RACIST, CLASSIST MALFOY'S MOTHER IN FRONT OF HER FAMILY AND FRIENDS. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ —was the uninterrupted intermission in Ginny's head. Her flesh goospimpled, a flush spreading over her cheeks and neck. She licked her lips slowly, desperately trying to come up with an explanation, an excuse— _something_ to alter the faces of her brothers and friends who were still looking at her with shock and expecting her to withdraw her statement. But Ginny couldn't think of anything to say. The silence dragged on. It was Fred who was the first to break it.

"What?" Fred asked, "Did you just-,"

"No," Ginny said quickly. "I meant. It's-it's wrong to say something like that about...someone's mum. I think...," she finished lamely. And it's okay to curse your own mother? Damn Malfoy, damn her! Damn her family!

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" Ron asked, frowning.

"I have to go," Ginny said putting her spoon down in the porridge bowl seeing that she had no excuse good enough to quench their curiosity and confusion. Escaping was the next best possible option. As Ginny collected her books, the curious and disapproving eyes of her brothers did not leave her.

"Go where?" Ron asked, putting his knife and fork down. Uh-oh. If Ron was ready to give up food, then the matter was serious. Ginny had to run now. She looked towards her brothers and friends helplessly, but they stared back at her expectantly, waiting for her to explain her outburst.

"Ronald," Luna's serene voice cut through the palpable tension, "I think if Fred and George continue any further then the gimblenacks might cause some real havoc to your hair." Ginny looked at Luna in surprise, but the other girl only smiled softly, jutting her chin in the direction of the door. _Leave now,_ she seemed to be saying. And Ginny did not need to be twice.

"Wha-," Ron began and touching his hair realized was full of gum. "YOU BLOODY ARSEHOLES. I CANNOT FUCKING BELIEVE THAT YOU TWAT HOLES WOULD FUC-,"

"RONALD WEASELY!" Professor McGonnagal's voice boomed out from the staff table. Her figure was fast making its way towards their table. "I urge you to stop your vulgar tirade immediately!"

Ginny shot her best friend a grateful smile before choosing to leave the hall in a hurry. She could hear her brother being scolded vehemently and be handed out detentions, and amidst that rang her brother's voice with a clear promise. "We'll be right here when you return, Gin," George called out as Ginny almost ran for the door.

"Ginevra," she heard someone call as soon as she stepped out of the hall. She halted at the voice to see Malfoy sauntering towards her. She let out a groan of annoyance.

" _What_?' She asked, impatient. She spied a look of hurt on his face which was immediately covered up with his infamous smirk. She tried not to feel bad but couldn't help the pang of hurt that went through her for having hurt him. Arsehole, she thought to herself.

"What's got your wand in a knot so early in the day?"

" _You_ ," she spat, accusatorily. "But-wait, did you-did you just call me _Ginevra_?" she let out a bark of laughter. No one had ever called her Ginevra. It reminded her of Aunt Muriel. Her dead Aunt Muriel who smelled like a thousand moths and fell asleep with her face dipped in tea, or on dinner plates. She did not like it. At all.

"Well, it _is_ your name, isn't it?" Malfoy said, with all the annoying flourish of arosticratic arrogance and propriety. Ginny's scowl softened a fraction when she saw a hint of self-conscious insecurity in his face. She rolled her eyes.

"My name is _Ginny_ , Malfoy," she pointed out.

"Well, would you have me call you Ginny now?" Malfoy scoffed. His question surprised her. She spied him with narrowed eyes. Was he...?

"Is this a whole exercise in you asking me what you must call me by...?" Ginny let out a bark of incredulous laughter. "You're barking mad." Why was he so proper and stiff and _lame_? Gosh! Ginny felt the incredulity dim the anger and anxiety from moments before.

"Don't be ridiculous," she heard Malfoy mutter.

"Fine," Ginny shrugged. "Was there a reason to why you sought me out so early in the day?"

"Why? Are our rendezvous only permitted to occur in the dark?" Malfoy asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Ginny's eyes widened with incredulity. Was Draco Malfoy flirting with her? "Malfoy? Aren't you gay? Why are you flirting with me?"

Malfoy sputtered with horror and indignation as a red flush creeped all over his face and neck. "What? NO!" He instinctively shouted, looking around the empty corridor self-consciously. He tugged at Ginny's arm violently, dragging her to a corner.

"Of course, my mistake. The overreaction was not a dead giveaway at all," Ginny said in a deadpanned voice.

Malfoy scoffed and looked as if he was about to think of another excuse to spit out, but thinking better of it, instead said, with his eyes narrowed, "who told you that?"

"Luna," Ginny said, as if _that_ wasexplanation enough. It wasn't. Malfoy scowled harder at her vague reply, squeezing her arm tightly.

"Looney? How does _she_ know?" Malfoy growled. Ginny slapped him hard behind his head.

"Hey!" Malfoy cried out in pain, clutching his head. "What in the bloody fuck?"

"Don't call her that!" Ginny growled. Malfoy looked at her angrily before his face softened. "Alright," he sulked still rubbing the spot behind his head which throbbed sharply with pain. Ginny wondered if she had hit him _too_ hard. But it was well-deserved. At least now he would not ever call Luna that distasteful name.

"But how does Loo-na," Malfoy spat the last syllable out with hurried vengeance, "know?"

"She just does," Ginny said. "She's observant," she offered when Malfoy looked like he was going to argue with her logic.

Malfoy seemed dissatisfied with her answer but seemed to have sensed the honesty in it. "Alright. I would appreciate it if you—," Malfoy began but was cut off by Ginny, who said, "Yeah, got it, Malfoy. Anyway, what did you want to tell me when you first so vulgarly accosted me?"

"First of all, a Malfoy is _never_ vulgar. A Weasley on the other hand...," he let his voice trail, crying out in agony when Ginny punched him in the arm for the suggestion he was making. "That hurt!" he cried, pushing her away violently. Ginny felt her right-side smart against where she crashed against the wall. "ow," she muttered in pain but gained her balance quickly to face Malfoy.

"You were saying something?" asked Ginny, unbothered by Malfoy's scowl.

"I saw you run outside the hall," Malfoy said, finally. "Is everything okay?"

Ginny's face softened at his display of concern before her insides were flooded with a sense of disgust. Ugh. Friends. With Malfoy Ugh, she groaned internally. "Yeah," she groaned. "It's...okay. Don't worry about it."

Malfoy nodded. "Also," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I have a surprise for you. Meet me at 9 at the edge of the forest tonight."

Ginny raised an eyebrow. This should be interesting, she thought dryly.

"Harry," Hermione cried out happily as she ran towards her best friend who was standing near the Big Lake soaking in the sun. He barely turned before Hermione crashed into him, taking him down with her. Harry laughed and put his arms around her best friend, hugging her close. When both pulled away from each other, they lay on the grass soaking in the sun. "Ron's in detention?" Hermione asked, even though she knew the answer. "Yep," Harry said, moving to lay on his side.

"What do you think is up with Ginny?" he asked quietly. He avoided Hermione's eyes when she turned to lie on her side. "I don't know," Hermione replied. Harry could tell she was being honest, but his heart did not hurt any less. "Do you think she—," Harry broke off, unable to finish his sentence. The thought hurt him too much to be allowed to exist in words.

"I don't know, Harry, I don't think so," Hermione said, taking her best friend's hand in her own and squeezing it tight.

"I don't think I'll ever stop loving her," admitted Harry softly. "And I don't think we'll ever get back together. It's not because of some _thing_ , it's just because that's how it is, it has to be, because of the kind of people we both are…," Harry trailed off. Hermione pressed their interlocked palms against her cheek, finding herself to be at a loss of words. "I don't want to go to my aunt's place for the winter," he said, as an afterthought. "But I don't want to stay in school or visit the Weasleys. With Ginny around, I think it'll be uncomfortable…not to mention impossible for me to get over her."

Hermione pursed her lips in concern. She had decided to spend her Christmas with the Weasleys seeing as her parents wanted to go for a second honeymoon vacation for winter. "Why don't the both of us go away somewhere for winter?"

Harry looked at her, surprised. "I thought your parents were…," but seeing Hermione's mischievous smile Harry paused and asked curiously, "Without parental supervision?"

"Of course, we won't tell the school about it."

"Of course," Harry agreed readily, scoffing. He propped up his head on his palm to get a better look at Hermione.

"I'm serious!" Hermione laughed, sitting up. "We've done crazier things without adult supervision," Hermione raised her eyebrows, daring Harry to challenge her. He didn't. He looked away, pensive, before he turned her with a twinkle in his eyes, "so where do you think we should go?"

Hermione laughed and lay down on the grass again. "We've got two months to decide. Preferably somewhere warm," she added as an afterthought. Harry smiled, content, his heartbreak forgotten in the face of impending joy.

"We should decide what we're going to do in the next meeting," Harry said. "Yes, I'm meeting Dean in the common room in a half an hour to figure that out."

"Dean," Hermione called out, from where she was seated next to the fireplace. Although Dean was supposed to have been talking with Hermione, he had not even spared her ten minutes, before he said he had to attend another meeting. Another meeting! Hermione had tried to not let her disappointment show as Dean went to his "meeting" which turned out to be with none other than witches Hermione was well-acquainted with. Why wasn't she invited? Hermione wondered, bitterly.

Dean had been involved in what seemed to be an intense discussion with Parvati Patil, her sister Padma and Cho Chang and Hermione had refrained from inquiring as to what the discussion was about, although every cell in her inquisitive body pained to know. But she could not handle it anymore. Under the pretense of consulting Dean's opinion for her next newsletter, and the list of authors they were to read, Hermione called out to Dean.

"Hey Hermione," he shot her a friendly smile. He had not moved yet, Hermione noted displeased. How was she supposed to get her information from across the room now?

"I hate to bother you, but could you please come here? Help me with this newsletter? I would love to get your opinion on some of the things…," Hermione trailed off. Dean gave her a quick "sure" and immediately turned to Parvati and muttered something before walking in her direction. To her immense displeasure, Hermione noticed Parvati following him. Were they two dating or something? Hermione wondered annoyed. But Padma was behind her too.

Why were all of them coming? "What did you need help with?"

Hermione did not answer, only looked at the crowd questioningly. "Erm," Dean cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "I'm afraid I won't be able to come to this week's meeting Hermione. Although I would certainly love to help you with the newsletter."

"That's alright. Is everything alright, though?" Hermione glanced suspiciously at the Patil twins behind him.

"Yes, it's just—I'm joining another club." Dean gave her a weak smile. "It's—it's going to be fun, I reckon. Doesn't mean I'm not part of the Mug-Club, anymore, of course."

Before Hermione could express her horror and surprise she was interrupted. "Read your newsletter, Hermione," Parvati Patil said from behind. "It was—enlightening." Hermione was ready to receive as a compliment and had been preparing herself to preen under the praise when she saw Padma, who was standing next to her sister, elbow her sibling sharply and shoot an uncomfortable smile at Hermione. Hermione frowned. Was something amiss?

"Thank you," Hermione said carefully. Were the twins—or only Parvati—also against the Mug-Club? They _were_ purebloods but she had not anticipated any opposition from them.

"What are you doing?" Parvati asked, drawing close. Hermione glanced at the list she had been making. It was okay to share, wasn't it? It wasn't like Parvati would know anyway.

"I'm making a list of authors we are to read and discuss in the next meeting," Hermione said triumphantly.

"Oh?" The brown said peeking over Hermione's shoulder. Hermione barely stopped herself from giving into the itch of covering her work. Since she was a child, she had had the experience of her peers hoping to copy off of her and that had bred into her a habit of cover her work, shielding it from the view of others through her body. And though Hermione knew Parvati had no such intention—of course not! This was not a test! —she was still overcome with the overwhelming urge to cover her work.

Her classmate, however, caught the move and rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, Hermione. Your ideas are _safe_."

"I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that," Hermione blushed, apologetic. "I just have a habit."

"Funny," Parvati said, though she looked anything but assumed. "May I ask who's on your reading list?"

"Muggle authors."

"With names, I hope?"

"Yes," Hermione admitted, annoyed. And said grudgingly, "Ginsberg, Woolf, Duffy and Winterson, to name a few."

"White, white, white and _white_ ," Parvati said with a shake of her head.

"White what?" Hermione asked, confused. Parvati gave her a look of incredulity.

"Surely you have noticed that all the authors on your list are Caucasian."

"A-are they?" Hermione frowned, looking at her list. Well… they were… "But it's not—I didn't—,"

"Yes, I know. I think this would be the right time to let you know I'm starting a new club," Parvati said with a very satisfied and smug expression on her face.

"What's it called?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"Club for Wizards and Witches of Colour," Parvati said primly.

Hermione's frown deepened. 'Club for Wizards and Witches of Colour'?

"But, there's no racism in the Wizarding world on the basis of skin colour—,"

"Then mind telling me why 98.6% of the population is white at Hogwarts and why 90% of Ministry officials are also white?"

Hermione blushed in embarrassment in the face of such transparent facts. "I-I," she stuttered, "you have Kingsley as the Minister of Magic," she offered weakly.

Parvati raised an eyebrow, "Riiiight," she exchanged a look of amusement with her sister who. Hermione was not used to this. She was not used to being the one at whom fingers were pointed at. One who did not know enough… she felt small, insignificant, _wrong_.

"You reek of mainstream," Parvati continued, "while your politics are leftist, you're still unable to take into consideration so many other factors, Hermione. I think you're starting to reflect the mindset of the people you're trying to protest against. Not very revolutionary, is it now, to promote the interests of only _one_ kind of minority while completely ignoring the rest?"

"I care about elf rights!" she protested. "I am not racist, I obviously cannot be... I mean I'm friends with Dean, come on."

"Just do yourself a favour and stop talking Hermione," Dean said, shaking his head, giving her a disappointed look. Her stomach clenched with regret.

"Right. I'm—I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that—but I—right." Hermione sat awkward and fidgeting. She wondered if she should leave the room. But Parvati and Dean had gone back to their group and were busily murmuring among themselves.

Hermione's face was still very much hot with embarrassment from the conversation she had just exchanged with her classmates. She couldn't understand how it could be that she was—she was—she was wrong! It was never _her_ in the wrong. She had always been so… She fought for elf rights, for Merlin's sake! And suddenly _she_ was—she was—but she couldn't be! She was muggleborn! She _faced_ racism. She did not perpetuate it. It was preposterous. The suggestion. The implication. Completely uncalled for and based on a—a _misunderstanding_. For she had many friends from diverse backgrounds. None she could recall apart from Dean but dammit, she did!

"Well, look who just walked in mate," Seamus said loudly, snapping Hermione from her reverie. Padma, Parvati, Dean and Cho were also distracted by the loud interruption. Hermione was secretly glad for Seamus because she needed time to collect her bearings. She couldn't believe she had been put on the spot like that and had failed to prove herself. Upset with herself, she was welcomed the distraction and looked up to see whom Seamus was referring to. It was Neville who had just entered the Gryffindor common room with Harry and was the subject of said attention. "It's the—," Hermione couldn't hear what Seamus said because there was a loud gasp, resonating throughout the common room, rendering everyone silent and tense. She saw Neville's frozen face, slowly turning to face Seamus who stood there proudly sneering.

"A—What?" Neville asked, quietly. Hermione was surprised to find his voice was firm. "A Nancy boy?"

Seamus laughed. "Yes, that's right."

"Shove off, Finnegan," Harry began but Neville stepped forward.

"It's alright Harry," Neville said, and Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach. She could see it—in his eyes, what he was about to do. She knew but she couldn't—her mouth, her mind couldn't conjure up the words to name it, to name it—that's what Neville was going to do. Name it.

"He's said nothing wrong."

"You—you're into boys?" Harry asked, rather stupidly, if Hermione was to be asked. She gave Harry a shove, irritated. "Sorry."

Neville cracked a small smile. He exchanged a glance with Hermione. She would have liked to say her face betrayed nothing but quiet confidence, but she knew if someone else were to explain it, if _Neville_ were asked, then he would perhaps say her face bore an expression of panic and quiet desperation.

"Yes," Neville said simply, as he took his eyes off of Hermione and focused them on Seamus who stood in front of him. There was a dull lull in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione could feel her stomach clench. She couldn't—she could—she was supposed to go forward but she wasn't sure—she wasn't—She saw Harry, who had been standing next to her, step forward to stand beside Neville. Her face shifted in surprise. Perhaps, perhaps, Hermione thought, her inner monologue, her conflicts could wait and for this moment she could lend herself to her friend and to friendship. She could stand beside him, like Harry had done and later she could stand for herself. She moved to stand next to Neville too.

"So what do you plan to do about it?" Neville asked.

"I told you he was a Nancy boy," Seamus looked around triumphantly. While none spoke, many looked on curiously, whispering amongst themselves. "We can't have filth like ya in Gryffindor now can we?"

Hermione's heart quickened. _Filth_? She wanted to rip that Finnegan apart.

"It's not your choice, now is it?" Neville shot back. "Now that you've achieved what you had set out to do, shove the hell off," he ground out angrily. Hermione could sense the quiet desperation in his words, his _plea_ almost.

"Tha' can't be right now, we've got to eliminate this stuff where it—," Seamus began but was cut off with a sharp, "Oh shut up Finnegan before I hex your balls off."

"Bloody hell, Patil!" Finnegan frowned, looking back at the person who had said those words. Hermione saw Parvati Patil, who had been perhaps standing behind Finnegan. She had her wand out, ready.

"Don't tell me you think—this is alright!? Normal? This queer—,"

"I'm warning you," Parvati said raising her wand. Hermione's looked on in surprise. She had never thought Parvati to be defending gay rights. She had assumed people from her background would be a bit conservative.

"Yeah, I'm a queer, a lesbian, a dyke, a floozy—what are you exactly planning on doing about it?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up, disappearing into her hairline, she exchanged a look of shock with Harry. Was Patil being serious? Harry looked as unsure as Hermione felt. Patil's voice had the tinge of irony but also defiance. Hermione looked on in awe and disappointment (that she felt with herself and her inability to have stepped out and defended Neville the way Parvati was doing).

"You Merlin's soggy balls, you've all gone off your rockers! Keep off me! I don't want no homosexual germs on me, Merlin's sake!" Finnegan spat in disgust as he stomped out of the Gryffindor common room.

Today had been a stressful day and Hermione had decided to go to the library to catch up on some much-needed reading. She had wanted badly to speak with Pansy, but she was not ready yet. Not yet. She didn't know what to say to Pansy yet. She didn't like not speaking with Pansy, but was still steadily ignoring her owls. She didn't want to talk about this yet she decided to distract herself by studying. Hermione was joined by Riddle sometime around 10, and apart from exchanging a nod of acknowledgement, no word was spoken between them, each content doing their work. When the librarian came around to tell them it was closing hours around midnight, Riddle convinced her to let the star pupils stay on and study for longer. Hermione had watched with fascination as Riddle bent the librarian to his will, using the right amount of flattery and coquetry to get what he wanted. Save for a smirk, she did not feel inclined to comment on Riddle's mastery of manipulation. When Hermione finally felt she had studied as much as she could for the day, she closed her pens and put it in her pen box and started gathering her books. Riddle, who had been engrossed on studying whatever secret stuff it was that he was studying and refused to share with Hermione, looked up when Hermione started gathering her stuff.

"Going to bed already?" Riddle asked.

" _Already_? Its 3AM," Hermione said in a deadpanned tone.

"Tomorrow's Saturday."

"It's 3AM," Hermione insisted.

"You can sleep in."

"And do _what_ now? I'm done studying," she said, annoyed that Riddle always found a way to make her think that she was not doing enough, not studying enough, not working hard enough. Riddle did not reply to her question but instead began gathering his stuff too.

"We can think of some things to do," he said simply. Hermione frowned.

"Are we to behead a troll or drink the blood of a unicorn?"

Riddle smirked. "Did you not say you wished to learn about the runes I drew earlier?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "And must it be now? At the devil's hour?"

Riddle gave her a devious smile. "Oh, it's the perfect time for it."

"The Forbidden Forest? Really? _Again_?" asked an exasperated Hermione, following behind Riddle closely. "I was kidding about the unicorn blood, you know," Hermione said, letting out a nervous laugh. Riddle ignored her as he continued off of the trail and deeper into the forest. Why was she here _again_? Hermione scolded herself for her own thirst for knowledge. It was going to get her killed someday, she feared. Or worse, expelled.

"We're here," said Riddle. Hermione gave him a look of incredulity. They were standing at the hollow trunk of a tree. It had a huge opening at the base of its trunk. "Is this a—," Hermione began but stopped abruptly when Riddle disappeared into the opening, without waiting for her to finish. Hermione waited a beat before following in. She did not expect to see the things she was seeing.

The tree trunk led to a cozy burrow of sorts—obviously expanded to the size of a small room through enchantment; big enough for Hermione to stand straight but Riddle to hunch. It was well lit with magical orbs that Riddle had placed around the burrow. There was a worn-out but clean carpet on the ground, which was littered with books and records—music records.

"What is this place and—and—you listen to the Beatles? And _David Bowie_?" Hermione sputtered in disbelief, as she kneeled down next to his set of music collection. "You listen to Muggle music," she whispered, taking a record out and putting it in the record player.

"No." Riddle said firmly as he took a seat beside her and removed the record she had put on. Hermione wasn't sure if he was no to the music or to her question. He lay on his back on the ground, pushing some of the books away. Hermione considered him curiously for a while, before saying, "What is this place?"

"What does it look like?" he looked up at her, folding his hands underneath his head to prop himself up.

"Your secret hide-out. But why would you need one?"

"Who says I have only one?" Riddle let out a lazy smirk. Hermione looked at him with suspicion. She wanted to ask him how many hideouts he had but knew it would not yield an honest answer, so she remained quiet.

"I don't understand," Hermione said, distracted by the muggle music records, "I thought you would hate muggles because you're in Slytherin but you're listening to muggle music…secretly, and interacting with me, also secretly," Hermione said slowly glancing around, even spotting muggle authors, "do you love muggle culture, secretly, Riddle or are you—," But Hermione was unable to finish her sentence for Riddle had cut her in between.

"You understand love, but you do not understand hatred. How it can consume you…," Riddle said. "You have not had your flesh burn with hatred, Hermione, I can tell."

"What do you mean?" Hermione's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Love does not need a reason, Hermione, but hatred does," Riddle replied cryptically. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You're really odd, you know, Riddle. And dramatic," she said, as she put a record in the gramophone. Riddle shot her a look of curiosity. "Which one is it?" he asked, impatient. Hermione shook her head, with a smile, and waited till the record started playing.

"Ah," Riddle smiled, "California Dreamin'? That's one of my favorite ones too."

Hermione beamed, delighted. "It's good, right? I played it for—," Hermione began but quickly shut up realizing what she was almost about to say, about to give away.

"Played it for whom?" Riddle asked, his eyes scanning Hermione's face. Pansy, Hermione thought, her heart hurting at the thought of her girlfriend whom she had not spoken to in days, Pansy. It was Pansy, for whom Hermione had played the song last.

"Played it for Ron and Harry, of course," Hermione replied flatly. "But they didn't enjoy it very much," she lied. "Ron prefers the Weird Sisters," well that was the truth, Hermione told herself. Riddle looked terribly unconvinced. He was still looking at her curiously. "We haven't had any Parseltongue classes for a week now," Hermione said in a desperate attempt to change the conversation.

"We've been busy this week," Riddle said smoothly, not taking his eyes off of Hermione. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze, and tried to fill her head with song lyrics. _California dreamin' on a winter's day,_ she sung in her head. It did not help.

" _You_ were busy," Hermione muttered.

"Say, Hermione," Riddle said, looking terribly unconvinced, "What _were_ you doing that night when we ran into each other?"

Hermione shot him a look of irritation. "You need to be specific, Riddle. We've been running into each other a _lot_ of nights."

Riddle gave her an amused look. "I think you know which night I'm talking about."

"And stop calling me Hermione, would you?" Hermione said instead, frowning and crossing her arms across her chest.

Riddle ignored her and instead surveyed her for a few seconds before a slow Cheshire grin spread on his face. "Are you doing something naughty, Hermione Granger?" he asked, his eyes shining with malice and curiosity. Hermione resisted the urge to swallow nervously.

"You know what? I think I'm going to go." Hermione made to get up.

"No," Riddle said softly, but his voice was firm. Hermione shot him a look of pure anger. "Oh, come on, Hermione, I thought we'd have some fun, and you're already leaving?" he teased. Hermione made a face of disgust, but she paused at the entrance.

"What 'fun' were you hoping to have?"

"Don't worry, it's all PG13," he continued his teasing as he sat up, crossing his legs. Hermione watched him carefully. The song had come to a halt a minute or two ago. Riddle reached behind him, to get to the book case, and threw a book at her. Hermione caught it easily and read the spine. _Five Ways to Identify Medicinal Plants_. She looked up to see Riddle was giving her his usual patronizing look of amusement. Oh, how much she wished to break his face. She sighed as she opened the book to see it was not, in fact, about plants, but about runes.

"I thought we'd have some real fun," Riddle said, innocently. Hermione rolled her eyes but she made to sit opposite him. Well, the book _did_ look fun.

"Where did you get it?" Hermione asked, seeing that it was not a property of the school library. Riddle only shrugged.

"One thing at a time," he said. "Now, do you wish to read your book or do you wish to know where it has come from?"

What a psychopath, Hermione scoffed. It felt like Riddle always needed to be in complete control of the situation or he would lose his mind.

"Not a very polite thought, but I wouldn't really doubt the accuracy," Riddle replied flatly, causing Hermione to look up in alarm. Had she said it aloud? Seeing her alarm, Riddle clucked his tongue.

"Is that something to think about someone who has done nothing but offer you the kindness of lending you a book?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and pointedly ignored him. "I'm guessing I can't see the other books you have?"

"You've guessed right," Riddle replied distractedly. He had picked up a book of his own to read. Hermione did not bother to retort and preferred instead to read her book in silence. Riddle and Hermione read for silently for a long time before Hermione was distracted by the sound of a thump. She looked up to see Riddle, who had, during the course of reading his book, laid down on the floor on his back, had fallen asleep with the book on his face. The book had now rolled off and fallen on to the floor with a thud, causing Hermione to look up. Hermione glanced at her watch to see it was almost 4:30 and decided it was time for her to head back as well. She wondered if she should wake Riddle up, but decided against it.

She however could not resist the urge to see what he was reading. As soon as Hermione's fingers touched the book, she knew it was covered in enchantments. There would be no point trying to break them at this hour. She glanced at his book shelf and a sigh escaped her lips invariably. All those books containing all that knowledge she had been dying to know. She glanced back at the book he had given her. At least she had that. It was so good and gave a detailed explanation on everything about runes, that Hermione was surprised why it wasn't available in Hogwarts. She decided to keep it with her and read it entirely before she could return it back to Riddle later.

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ginny said, literally shoving Malfoy from the taking the better broom. "You always take the better one." Ginny had found Malfoy, waiting at their regular spot, at nine 'o' clock sharp when she saw he was standing with the brooms Ginny kept stowed away in the tree trunks.

"Well, obviously," Malfoy said, holding the red broom away from Ginny's grasp, "I'm used to only nice things. You're used to using awful hand-me-down stuff, so the broom should make no difference to your game." Ginny glared at him and was surprised to find that there was no hint of malice in his face. Merlin's beard, Malfoy really was a bigoted classist to the extent that he did not even think his words could cause hurt or pain, or were in the least, improper to common sensibilities.

"You're a swot, Malfoy," Ginny scoffed as she elbowed Malfoy, and before he could recover, quickly tripped him, effectively shoving him to the ground and straddling his waist. "And I'd like to take my broom back, thank you," Ginny said, taking the broom from Malfoy's now loosened hold, as the boy groaned and moaned in pain beneath her. Ginny got up, dusting her pants, while Malfoy was still on the ground, complaining that Ginny had been too harsh on him.

"I'm going to get you for this," he promised, vengefully. Ginny only rolled her eyes. "So you keep saying," she said in a sing-song way, which she knew would annoy Malfoy even more. After a game of made-up quidditch amongst the two of them, Ginny finally asked, setting her broom aside and sitting down to lean against a tree, "So, what is it that you wanted to show me?"

"Ah, yes," Malfoy said, sitting down beside her, and reaching into his pockets for something, "this," he said opening his closed fist to reveal a necklace with a square amulet on it, "for you. To help with your sleep."

Ginny stared at it for a few seconds in silence before reaching out to take it. Malfoy and she had often spoken about themselves and in between conversations Ginny had let slip the reason she was out prowling the forests like a werewolf. It was because she couldn't sleep. She had not imagined, even for once, that Malfoy of all people would try and help her.

"It calms you down, and helps you have a dreamless sleep," he explained. Ginny looked at him, concerned.

"Where did you get it from?" It didn't look like something that could be bought off the streets. Malfoy only shrugged.

"Does it matter? What matters is that it's helping you."

Ginny frowned. She did not like that answer and Malfoy could see that. Before Ginny could verbally object he quickly added, "calling you Ginevra is becoming tiresome. I think I should be able to call you Ginny now, shouldn't I? And you can call me Draco, of course."

Ginny rolled her eyes as she kept the amulet inside her pocket. She would bring it up again later, she thought to herself. But her curiosity had won her suspicions over. She wanted to see if it worked.

"You left without saying goodbye," Hermione started at the sudden interruption. "Or should I say, goodnight." It was Riddle. After Riddle had fallen asleep last night, Hermione had let herself out and sneaked back into the dorms.

She had avoided him the entire day, unable to shake off the bizarre chill she had felt sneak down her spine when Riddle had said the weird things he had. Riddle was always weird. But Hermione felt she had misunderstood the depth and quality of weirdness Riddle represented. So, when she had found her safe secret corner in the library and cast disillusionment charms and such to hide herself from general purview, she had underestimated Riddle's prowess in seeking and disabling her charms. And thus, here he was, annoying her. Again.

"Reading muggle literature again?" he asked.

"Yes," Hermione said in a clipped voice.

"For your time-travel research?" he jerked his head towards the novel she held in her hand.

"No," Hermione said, shooting him an irritated glance. Could he not tell she was reading? If she remembered correctly, Riddle loathed anyone even _breathing_ within five meters from where he was studying. Clearly, he did not extend the same courtesy to others. Hermione huffed at the unfairness of it.

"What is it fo—," Riddle began but Hermione cut him off with a sharp, "the Mug-Club. Now, would you please excuse me? I've got a lot to prepare for and—,"

But Riddle seemed determined to ignore her protests for he asked, "Mug-Club? Now you're reading muggle literature together?" Was he—was he scoffing at her!? Did he think it beneath him?

"Yes," Hermione replied, considerably bristled.

"What for exactly?" Riddle's eyes shined with curiosity, but Hermione could see the feeling of disdain, of mockery in the smug smirk he sported. Oh, how she wanted to box his ears!

"I'm afraid it's strictly members-only information," Hermione said curtly. "Interested and _eligible_ members may apply."

Riddle let out a bark of laugh. "Merlin forbid," he said. Hermione observed him shrewdly.

"You're eligible, you know," Hermione said quietly. "To join." Riddle shot her a frown, willing her to explain. "I know you're—," she faltered, choosing her words carefully, "you're _well acquainted_ with the muggle world."

He gave her a blank look. Hermione continued nervously, "You did not seem surprised when I pulled out a pen the last time. And 'Devil's Hour'? That's from the Bible."

Riddle gave her a look she could not fathom. He did not say anything. Hermione could not understand if he was angry or not. She couldn't understand why he always got so bizarre about his background whenever it came up. She could tell he was uncomfortable about it. Although she wasn'tsure if he was Half-Blood or Muggleborn, she knew Riddle was, perhaps, ashamed of his blood status. Was it because he was in Slytherin? She couldn't tell. She yearned to ask him but restrained herself.

"How clever," Riddle finally said with a smile. She wondered if he intended it to be sarcastic. But his smile was warm and kind, so she thought he really meant it. Hermione only nodded in acknowledgement at the strange timing of his comment—compliment.

"I heard about what happened to Longbottom," he said. A topic changer? Hermione wondered while she gave a stiff nod. She was not sure she wanted to talk about Neville. She wasn't sure if it should be gossiped. She wondered if Riddle was a homophobe. He _did show_ fascist tendencies…

"Seems like Slytherins aren't the only ones worried about purity," Riddle said with a small snort. Hermione shot him a glare. Seamus had decided that he would not stand for "queer floozies" in Gryffindor and had demanded a cleansing. He had even submitted an application to Dumbledore himself, apparently. Hermione had wanted to cut Seamus into slices and perhaps box him alive, in that cut state, and throw him in a locked case to rot at the bottom of the ocean.

"Yes, seems so," Hermione said sharply. She did not wish to speak about it—or anything. But Riddle seemed intent today to make conversation with her. "He's submitted an application to the administration," Hermione said with a scoff. She could not help the anger, the frustration from coming up to the surface. She didn't care if Riddle was a homophobe, if he was getting off of the fact that there were purists in Gryffindor as there were in Slytherin, if only of a different kind—she couldn't keep this anger inside. And what better conduit than conversations with Riddle.

"Worried they might approve of such a—," Riddle began but Hermione sharply cut him off, "Are you a homophobe?"

"What?" Riddle asked, blankly. Hermione stared at him, challenging him to play at ignorance. He surprised her with a curt, "No."

Aha, so the mighty Riddle— "And you, are you?" Riddle asked interrupting her train of thought.

"No!" Hermione almost shouted in disbelief. Her!? A homophobe!? _She_ was—was what exactly? Well, she wasn't sure but she was something and that wasn't heterosexual. And she was therefore, by definition, far from being a homophobe. Homosexuals—or whatever she was—wasn't—couldn't be homophobic, could they? Hermione frowned deep in thought. Technically, by definition, they couldn't…and by that stretch neither was she. But then, but then why was she so…so _angry_ with Neville? She was surprised by her own choice of words. Was that what she was feeling all this while? This sickness in her stomach, this uneasiness. It was suppressed anger.

She wished—she wished Neville had not come out, had not said all that he did, had not created the mess he had. It created so much anxiety in her. Pansy and she had _just_ started dating after all—although with the fight yesterday Hermione was reluctant to speak with Pansy for a while. But still, they did not need the entire school in a mess about a scandal—much less a _homosexual_ scandal! She needed peace and quiet—she needed the space for herself to figure out what she was and where she stood but Neville had taken away the choice from her. Had—had made her—had _forced_ her to confront this. To be visible, to be loud, to be—out. And she wasn't sure, she wasn't ready. Not yet. Not yet.

Perhaps, homosexuals—or whatever she was—could be homophobic, she decided dejectedly.

"Are you alright there, Hermione?" she heard Riddle ask. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Worried about the school listening to Finnegan?"

"Do _you_ think they would?" Hermione asked, blankly.

"Well," Riddle said glancing at her book and then at her, "all literature does warn one against trusting adults." There was a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Hermione fought the urge to smack it off of his face.

"Actually, Riddle," Hermione said, closing her book, "all literature warns one against trusting men."

Riddle gave her a look of surprise before his mouth twisted into a smirk. "And isn't Dumbledore both?"

"And aren't you at least one of them?" Hermione countered. She was sick of the games he was playing. It always seemed like Riddle sought not the answers she gave to his inquisitive questions but in what he presumed she refrained from saying. She hated this sneaky urge in him—this urge to know people in the vilest manner possible; to know them through coercion, cajoling; by deceiving them into giving themselves up, giving themselves away. Why couldn't he get to know people in a normal way? Riddle was bizarre and disturbed, Hermione concluded harshly, extremely irritated.

"How is your potion coming along?" Hermione asked. She had been researching potions which required fresh unicorn hair and but had not found any. What was Riddle _making_? He was too secretive, Hermione decided. She knew the answer was in those books he would always be reading. If only she could get a hand on those again. She knew she would not be able to find them anywhere but in the private libraries Riddle had scoured them from.

"Quite well, thank you," Riddle answered smoothly. Hermione knew he would not relent further details so found it fruitless to ask him.

"Will you be attending the Yule Ball?" Riddle asked when she had picked up her book to read again. At his question Hermione did not deign herself to lower her book or put it away. He had disturbed her enough, she had decided.

"Yes."

"Would you like to go together?"

Hermione glanced at Riddle, surprised. "That seems nice," she said, not apologetic at how her voice was dull and flat, "but I'm already going with someone."

"Who?" Riddle asked—no, demanded. Hermione frowned.

"I don't believe it is any business of yours but if you _must_ know, I will be going to the ball with Ron."

"Ron?" Riddle's face contorted into confusion. "Ron—Ronald Weasley?"

"Yes," Hermione said annoyed. "Now can you please leave me alone to read in peace?"

Riddle did not reply as he gave her a stiff nod and proceeded to remove himself from her table with exaggerated violence. She could hear him stomp down the tables for another five seconds before he was lost to the silence brought by distance. Merlin, he was dramatic, Hermione thought.

Ronald Weasley going to the ball with Hermione Granger?

Tom Riddle felt his insides—for the first time—burn with rage over such a—such a frivolous subject. He was not—he was _not_ —Tom Riddle was not jealous. He felt his steps heavy and loud as they made their way outside the library and towards the grounds outside.

Immediately spotting the flash of red hair belonging to Ronald Weasley he made his way over. He wanted to curse his balls off. He could if he wanted to, he knew he could. And none would be wiser.

The sun felt warm and nice on his cold skin but he could not be bothered for sunlight at the moment. Not when there were larger matters to be addressed.

"Ronald," Tom said coldly. "May I have a word with you?"

He watched with barely concealed disgust as Weasley made his way over to him after shooting an awkward, "Uh yeah" at him and turned to say, "I'll be right back, guys," to his friends. _Don't count on it_ , Tom wanted to add but he didn't.

As they walked back to the corridor and the great shadows of the castle fell on them, robbing them of the warmth the sunlight had granted. Goose pimples covered their flesh. Riddle ignored the shock of shiver that ran down his spine at the sudden change in temperature. He pulled Weasley into an alcove.

"Is it true that you're to accompany Hermione Granger to the ball?"

"Uh, yes," Weasley said, rather stupidly Tom thought.

"If memory serves right, the last time I had asked you as to whether you had any plans regarding the ball, you said," Tom paused for effect and narrowed his eyes, "'Nah.'"

"At that time I-I didn't!" Weasley sputtered, "But well everybody around me was getting partners and a bloke can't go alone, can he? Well, he can and I was prepared to. But I was worried about Hermione. There's nothing sadder than a girl going alone so I asked her."

"A case of charity," Tom commented, displeased. Weasley really regarded himself in high esteem didn't he?

"Yeah," he grinned, foolishly. "Were you jealous?"

Tom gave him a cold smile, "I wished to ask you to withdraw your offer so _I_ may be allowed to take Granger."

"Wh-what?" Weasley sputtered, indignant. "Bloody hell. No way am I going to do that!"

"And why is that?"

"Because I—," Weasley broke off, his ears turning red. Tom raised his eyebrows to show he was impatient. "I asked her first," Weasley spat out venomously. Tom considered him coldly before giving him a curt nod. He would deal with Weasley later, he decided.

When Tom made to move away, he felt his body be jerked towards Weasley's before he could tell what was happening. Had he been jinxed? By someone? But Weasley's triumphant look told him it had been no stranger. Jinxed by Weasley? Unlikely, he concluded. He realized it had been Weasley's hand that had shot out and pulled Tom by the belt of his pants, tugging Tom's body towards Weasely's own.

"I," Weasley said, grinning, "don't believe we're done yet."

"I don't have time for this, Weasley," Riddle sneered. "I'm going to ask you again politely to ask—,"

"And why should I do that?" Weasley shot back. His eyebrows rose up meaningfully. Tom considered cursing Weasley's balls off for a second but with the way Weasley's hand was making its way further down he thought it would be a pity to not enjoy oneself.

"If you insist," Tom smirked, "I'll let you have a taste."

Weasley rolled his eyes scoffing as he took a step back. "Let _me_?" He unbuttoned his pants. " _I_ will let _you_ ," he nodded at him. "And perhaps if you have been good, I may return the favour."

Against his will, Tom swallowed, before quickly marking it as a cough of scoff. "Seeing as you—,"

"Oh shut up and get to it, Riddle," Weasley snapped, pulling his pants down. "We both know you like giving head."

"Always in such a hurry, Ronald," Tom smirked as he made his way to him. Weasley only smiled, closing his eyes and leaning against the back wall.

"Well, I apologize. Do take your time," he muttered under his breath as Tom began to work his magic. "How did I meet you?" Tom heard him mutter.

 _How indeed,_ Tom wondered.

Ronald Weasley often wondered if it was normal to think about food as much as he did.

Hermione and Harry seemed not very taken with food. It was a source of nourishment and sometimes of pleasure for them. But for Ron food was... It was a way to live. Sometimes he forgot to chew and focused on swallowing because he would be so excited to eat. It was such a pleasure, eating. Everything tasted so wonderful and it was right there—in front of him. He loved Hogwarts, there was enough food for everyone. Not that there wasn't enough at home. His mum and dad always had food on the time despite their financial conditions. But even then, there was always this niggling anxiety to eat only a certain amount and no more, because you didn't know when the food would run out. But of course, that never happened. Of course. Maybe once, or twice. But mostly never, Ron would tell himself. He would often feel guilty for thinking so because he knew how hard his parents worked to keep their family afloat.

None of these anxieties existed in Hogwarts, of course. None about food. He could eat and eat and there would still be enough for everybody and more, and more.

"The way you lot are nonchalant about food, I don't get it," he would say digging into the delicious meat pies, "you do not deserve these delicacies which the elves prepare with such hard work." Harry would only roll his eyes while Hermione would either ask him to chew his food slowly or he'd choke, or nag him about elf rights. Merlin, he had no one to turn to! He had hoped to find a comrade in Seamus and Dean, but they were more enchanted with explosives. Explosives! Why concern yourselves with blowing up stuff when you could be using that valuable time _eating!?_ Ronald could never understand—never _fathom—_ the nonchalance, the indifference. People were mad! Crazy! Pathetic! Or so he thought until he met one whose passion for food met his own.

Meeting people who were painfully nonchalant about food, Ronald Weasley met Tom Riddle. He had been intimidated by the latter, and had only ever watched him from afar. He had never believed they would exchange a single word in the course of their lifetimes, let alone school time. But here they were, exchanging more than words. Perhaps everything else but words. But it was delightful. As much as food. And along with food.

Riddle was cold, curt, kind, _bizarre_ and kind of off-putting. But a thing Ron could not fault in Riddle was his love for food which only matched his own. They had been introduced by Hermione. Rather, Riddle had come to give Hermione a book to read for this project they were working on when Ron had been sitting beside Hermione.

"Pies from Ron's mother," Hermione had said gesturing to the food spread in front of them. "Do eat one before you go."

Ron had been a second away from snapping at his friend. He loved his mother's pies and he did not wish to share it with anyone outside from Hermione and Harry. But seeing as Riddle was already reaching for the pie, Ron found himself helpless. Fuming in silence Ron sought to at least jab his elbow in Hermione side but she had gotten up already and bid them goodbye. Left with the strange Slytherin eating his mother's pies, Ron resisted the urge to pack the rest and leave. He had felt awkwardness seep into the empty common room as he (im)patiently waited for Riddle to be done with the pie and leave. But he didn't.

Riddle surprised him by initiating conversation. He had assumed Riddle would not deign to speak to him seeing as he only interacted with people who were extraordinarily intelligent. And Ron was convinced he had nothing intelligent or interesting to say. Especially at the moment when he anxiously watched Riddle munch away his on his mother's meat pie.

"I must say Ronald, your elves seemed to have surpassed the elves of Hogwarts! These pies are absolutely delicious."

Ron's ears turned pink. "Erm, thank you? But it's all my mum's cooking. No house elves in our home," he tried to say proudly though his voice faltered. Everyone knew house elves were a mark of wealth and absence of the same was also a statement for the absence of wealth.

"Oh, well they're wonderful. Is it alright if I take another?" Riddle asked, cheerfully.

"Of course mate, here you go," Ron handed him a pie realising only a moment too late that it had been the last one. Seeing Ron's disappointed face Riddle asked, "Are you sure you don't want this?"

"Yes, I am," he forced himself to say. "Have at it." He had caught the expression of raw hunger in Riddle's face, this _need_ for the food that he was trying to cover up with politeness. But Ron had caught it. It was a need mirroring his own.

"Thank you," Riddle said quietly. Something in his voice had changed and Ron felt he must have really impressed the bloke. He felt good about himself, Ron did. In this position of giving, it made him feel powerful even. The ability to do good carelessly, effortlessly, was a privilege he believed largely lay only with the powerful. He could not give what he did not have, so he never gave. But today, today he felt powerful enough to give.

"If you loved this, then you would definitely enjoy my mother's apple pies. She makes desserts as well as she does savoury dishes," Ron boasted stretching out on the sofa.

"I love apple pie," Riddle added, as he took a bite of the pie.

"And custard?"

"I love custard too," Riddle agreed readily.

"And blueberry?"

"Yes."

"And—," Ronald began but Riddle cut him off with a firm, "I like them all."

"Merlin, is there anything you don't like?"

"I'm not sure," Riddle frowned. He seemed to be really thinking hard, _genuinely_. And Ron had never seen anyone ponder on food or even just the stuff he said, this hard, _ever_. He felt important. "Well I do hate the goo they serve when I go back."

"Go back where?"

"To the orphanage," Riddle said, with a sad face. Ron felt shocked by Riddle's sad admission. His heart clenched tightly. "Well, don't worry about it, mate, I'll send you stuff from my house. Just give me your address and—," Ron was unable to complete his sentence because of what happened next.

Riddle seemed perhaps as horrified as Ronald himself. They had been talking of food a minute and the next minute they had been kissing, and it was just the taste of pies that both could remember later.

"I'm not a—," Ron began, but was cut off with an indignant Riddle who said, "Neither am I!"

And then they pounced on each other anyway.

They would meet during lunch and between breaks and always in the in-between of things. Always in a hurry, or a rush and never with leisure. Tom would wonder how things came to be, but then stop himself. He was not one to wonder. And not about Ron Weasley, of all people. But there some bizarre fascination he felt with regard to Ron Weasley that he himself had not been able to quite comprehend.

"Ron, do you mind _chewing_ before swallowing?" Tom heard someone-Hermione-say, and he held himself from snapping, _he's fine, thank you._ Tom Riddle had a fetish. He loved watching Ronald Weasely eat. It was ridiculous. Preposterous. Blasphemous.

But it was the way Ronald Weasley would butter a scone, without a missing a spot, would munch away without wasting a second, and never leaving a crumb that satisfied Tom so much he could not help staring, and staring.

They should make a show out of it, he decided. A show on the Telly. Ronald Weasely eating. A snigger escaped him at the thought. How ridiculous. What would one even call the show? Eating-show? Hah. Who would even watch it? Riddle knew he would. Oh, he would watch it alright.


End file.
